


Astray in Love

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Autistic Cisco, Canonical Homophobia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hartley is a tsundere fuck, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Trans Male Character, cute cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: Cisco adopts a cat. And then another. And then a third just shows up, and by that point, he's accepted his lot in life. Somewhere in the middle of all of these cats, Hartley finds time for a big ugly crush on the guy he totally definitely doesn't like, not for any reason whatsoever. Caitlin is tired.





	1. Meowth

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've really gotten to explore Cisco's autism in a fic and I'm really happy with that. And yes, I am also publishing a goldenvibe fic alongside this, but Cisco needs as much love as he can get, and it's not MY fault Hartley has a big gay crush on him, is it? Also, lots of kitties. And later, adopting puppies. It's gonna be one of those fluffy fics. 
> 
> Keep in mind as well, Hartley at this point is just sort of being a standoffish asshole, and this is somewhere before the events of the actual show start; the particle accelerator in its very early stages? Specifics aren't necessary to enjoy, don't worry.

The first thing Cisco Ramon did when he got his own apartment was burn a bunch of his old clothes in his parent’s backyard.

Well, okay. That sort of didn’t count. It was in the middle of a huge argument and he’d just grabbed all his old bras and burned them. It still didn’t get through to his parents, so Cisco gave up and left his house in the middle of the night, laptop in tow.

His apartment, such as it was, was a bed, a cardboard box full of tee shirts, and a fridge with sriracha and leftover pan dulche growing fuzzy. And that just would not do.

So the _first_ real thing he did, aside from throw out the old pan dulche, was get a cat.

There was nothing in this world Cisco loved more than cats, except candy, cute shirts, and living alone. His dad had been allergic, and so there went his opportunity to have a member of the family he actually _liked._ It had been lonely in the house once he’d begun refusing to go to Dante’s recitals and concerts, and now there was nothing stopping him from having someone—well, something—to talk to when he got desperately lonely.

So that was why he was sitting in the Central City Animal Shelter, drumming his heels against the floor and waiting to be allowed inside the cat room. It was a bit of a wait, and he was bored, and he had nothing to fiddle with, so he started to play with his hair like he always did when he was bored and desperate. He waited and fiddled and fiddled and waited until one of the volunteers came out and said, “Mr. Ramon? You can come back now.”

“Cool,” Cisco said, hefting himself up off the couch and poking his head in. “Hey, question; you have anybody on death row here?”

The volunteer flinched. “I don’t think that’s the right term—“

“Well, what else can I call it? Euthanasia corner?” Cisco said. “Seriously. Not trying to pick a fight. Just want to help a cat.”

He hated it when this happened, always did. His brain picked the worst times to be way too literal. She gave him a look that was a lot less welcoming and said, “Well.”

…

This was how, six hours later, Cisco came home with a plastic cat carrier, food, and a cat that was overdue for being euthanized by about two hours.

“Hey, kitty,” he said, opening the door up and going about his business, giving her time to approach the apartment. “Today’s your lucky day.”

He didn’t hear from the cat for hours, which was to be expected. He went about his cooking business, making food from what was left in the house and resolving to buy more, before sitting down on his bed with dinner, turning the television on.

There was a disgruntled meow from nearby. Cisco grinned. “Sorry kitty, but today we’re sharing this bed. Okay?”

There was a beat. He didn’t look at her, so as not to upset her, and instead channel surfed until he felt a sudden weight on his hip.

Cisco looked up at the cat. She looked down at Cisco. He grinned. “You know I’m just gonna move soon, right?”

She yawned and flexed her claws, kneading into him. Cisco winced. “Okay. We can discuss that later.”

Cisco and the cat watched television in silence together, and Cisco took in her measure. She was a mottled, lumpy longhaired calico cat, a fluffy Persian-looking kitty with a weird set of whiskers, and old. The shelter hadn’t been sure _how_ old, but they did know she’d been with them for three years, getting well into the realm of unadoptable.

Cisco reached up and scratched lightly behind her ear. “But you’re not a bad girl, are you? You’re just old.”

She yawned at him. Cisco laughed. “Okay, well, can you scoot? I’m trying to sleep.”

He managed to roll over on his stomach, unencumbered for all of two seconds before she settled on his lower back and dug her claws in, kneading gently. Cisco surrendered to the inevitable and went to sleep.

…

The next afternoon after work, Cisco came back with two huge bags of groceries and one huge bag of pet supplies. The cat trotted out from under the kitchen chair and meowed at him. Cisco waved. “Hey, good to see you, kitty! Where were you this morning?”

She frisked her tail and followed him around as he set down his groceries on the counter, turning around and stepping on a piece of tinfoil. He raised an eyebrow. “Kitty?”

He knelt, examining the space between the cabinets and the floor, and laughed. The cat rushed over to him, nudging him away from her treasure trove of brightly colored tinfoil and plastic wrappers, mostly from Cisco’s candy. He grinned. “Probably should get better at cleaning that stuff up. But you like it, huh?”

She purred. Cisco smiled. “I do too. I’m glad you’re happy, but I did buy you some real toys, and a bed.”

It didn’t change anything; she chewed on the plastic wrappers and batted them around, and scoffed at the bed in favor of sleeping on her much warmer, softer owner. Cisco played on his 2DS, deep in thought as the night wound down and his old kitty started to purr.

“Oh man,” he said. “I have a great idea. There’s this Pokemon, and they’re a cat that loves shiny objects. Do you know about them?”

She yawned wider. Cisco nodded. “Right, right. I figured. But now I have a great name for you. What do you think about Meowth?”

Meowth licked her lips and lowered her head on top of her paws. Cisco grinned. “Cool. Taking that as a yes.”

With a content little grumble, Meowth started to snore.

…

Cisco and Meowth settled into a comfortable, friendly routine; Cisco fed Meowth in the morning, then went to work, letting Meowth have free reign over all the shiny wrappers in the house. Normally, Cisco came home with a new can of wet food for her dinner, and made himself something from the fridge, but today was payday, and Cisco wanted a burger.

Cisco rocked back and forth lightly on his heels, humming tunelessly to himself, receiving a few filthy looks from nearby people that he ignored. He ordered his favorite burger and filled a cup with a mix of sodas; root beer with cherry soda, no ice. The routine was good, and comforting, and he smiled to himself, still humming.

A disgusted muttering reached his ears—the words were unintelligible, but the contempt leaked through the tone. Cisco quieted his humming, anxiety souring into a hard lump in his stomach, shaped from a lifetime of having his hands slapped still by his parents, his ears ringing with his father’s senseless fury at the habits that made him happy.

He took the greasy brown bag waiting for him on the counter and left. He needed the time to walk, to think, somewhere away from the new panic curdling in his chest. He left the store, closing the glass door behind him, and started to hum tunelessly again, a prickle of defiance glowering in his throat.

Before Cisco could start off for home, his hum was answered with a tiny, desperate squeak.

He lifted his eyebrows, pausing long enough to listen. The squeak started up again, and he followed it, with a sinking stomach, into the alley behind the burger joint, his fingers digging into the bag. He lifted up the dumpster lid with his free hand and almost dropped it again, his hand trembling as he set his bag of food atop the other half and its closed lid.

With careful, delicate hands, Cisco pulled the kitten out of the dumpster, taking off his cardigan and wrapping the kitten up in it, clutching it like a baby in swaddling clothes, and shoved his shaking hand in his pocket, grasping for his phone, calling Meowth’s vet.

The bag of burgers, fries, and his soda remained on the dumpster, forgotten.

…

Cisco brought his new kitten into work the next day, because the vet had explained he needed to be fed every two hours and kept warm. So, the tiny ginger tabby remained snuggled in a pocket resting against Cisco’s chest, sleeping. It was peaceful and warm, Cisco’s chest rising and falling against the sleeping kitten’s twitching, shivering body. He looked down at the little kitten and smiled, thoughts of all else fleeing his head until it was rudely interrupted by a silver-spoon sniff.

“Oh,” Hartley said, leaning over into Cisco’s workspace, not blinking. “You’re not binding today.”

Cisco flinched, gritting his teeth and glancing aside. Hartley raised his eyebrows, watching the squirming, trembling kitten sleep in Cisco’s pocket. He didn’t say anything—it might have helped on a better day, but now? Forget it. Cisco couldn’t interpret Hartley’s face on a good day, and his brain wasn’t having a good day right now by anyone’s definition.

“I thought it might be _better_ ,” Cisco said, forcing every word out through a new tightness in his chest, “for him. He has to be warm. Kittens don’t start producing their own body heat until they’re two weeks old and he’s so young and if I hadn’t been there he would’ve died in another hour, okay? Okay? Could you let me just _work?”_

Hartley took a step back, blinking. Hurt and confusion crossed his face, but Cisco didn’t see it, focusing on the kitten in his pocket, cupping him against his chest. Hartley glanced aside. “Right. Okay. Don’t let him interfere with your work then, Cisquito.”

“Fuck off,” Cisco mumbled, sitting down at his desk, tapping away. Hartley retreated, the shiny wrappers he’d collected from his lunch to share with Cisco forgotten, his chest smarting with his fuck-up and not sure how to apologize.

…

Cisco went home to Meowth and made her dinner, before sitting down on his bed and feeding the new kitten with an eyedropper, feeding him carefully until the dose of formula the vet had given him was finished. He set him down on the bed and Meowth immediately trotted over, her dinner forgotten. She whisked her tail, sniffing at the kitten. Cisco let her pace and sniff, sniff and pace, her tail frisking side to side before she decided on something.

Flopping down, Meowth took the kitten under her paw, tugging him closer and letting him snuggle against her chest, keeping him warm and letting him suckle.

Cisco raised his eyebrows. Meowth turned her head towards him and chirped. He laughed, shaking his head. “Okay. Let me call the vet.”

A half hour later, he had gotten off the phone with the vet and was now on the phone with Caitlin, Chinese takeout surrounding him in apology for his abandoned burger and fries.

“So I called the vet and said the kitty was nursing at Meowth and _she_ said she’d probably had kittens before I adopted her, and some animals are more suited to being foster moms and producing milk in the presence of unattended babies, which, uh, ew, but that means he’s okay to stay at home! Meowth is a good mommy, aren’t you, Meowth?”

He scratched behind her ear as Caitlin clucked her tongue. “I’m glad he’ll be safe with her. But Cisco, I gotta tell you; Hartley was storming around and being bitchy soon as you went on break today.”

Cisco groaned. “Don’t talk to me about him, Cait, this is a happy conversation.”

“No, it’s,” Cait grimaced, and he could hear her sigh over the phone. “Ronnie overheard him talking to himself, and he was really upset? He’d saved you foil wrappers. For Meowth, you know? Because he knows she likes shiny stuff.”

Cisco’s stomach curdled. “Don’t try to guilt trip me, Cait. He was the one who said I wasn’t—wasn’t _binding,_ which is so _rude—“_

“I know it is, and he should apologize,” Cait said. “But I don’t think he did this on purpose, that’s all. I mean, when he’s a dick on purpose, kill him. But, Cisco—“

“Don’t,” Cisco groaned, “don’t you dare—“

“Cisco, I think he has a crush on you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Cisco said firmly, “because he’s gay, and he’s one of _those_ gays who hates the idea of my pussy, and he hates me because I don’t _look right,_ and, and—“

He slapped his hand against his thighs listlessly, screwing his eyes shut. “Please stop talking about this. Please.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said, her voice gentle. “Okay. Tell me about the kitten.”

With relief, Cisco did.

“Well, he’s very small and cute,” Cisco explained. “He’s a ginger tom, and he’s already porking up just from me feeding him for like, a day, so he’s going to be _so_ fat. I’m so excited you don’t even know. And like I’ve been reading all these books on cat care, and—“

He kept Caitlin on the phone until well into the midnight hours, and they didn’t talk about Hartley once, which was super awesome as far as Cisco was concerned. In fact, he didn’t have to think about Hartley either as he passed out next to Meowth and the kitten, content knowing Meowth would look after him.

He couldn’t remember his dream the next morning, save for a silver-coated laugh, the vague sense of fluttering in his stomach, and a wet satisfaction between his legs. Cisco refused to acknowledge it, checking on the kitten one last time before he went to work.

“Cisco—“

“Am I _binding_ enough for you today, Hartley?” Cisco said, just this side of sharp. Hartley glanced aside.

“You’re fine. But you’d look a lot nicer if you dressed properly,” he said, letting Cisco brush past him, rolling his eyes. “You’d be so handsome in a tailored shirt.”

Cisco rolled his eyes in disgust and didn’t see Hartley’s blush, light pink and illuminating his features. There was a long silence as Cisco opened up his computer, keying in his access codes.

“How’s the kitten doing?”

Cisco paused mid-keystroke. He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“The kitten,” Hartley repeated. “You don’t have him with you today.”

Cisco glanced aside. “Oh. Well. Meowth is nursing him. She’s a good foster mom.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Hartley said.

There was another pause. Hartley went to the pocket of his well tailored blazer, pulling a plastic bag full of shiny foil wrappers and silver bag linings out.

“I thought,” Hartley said, then fell silent, blinking. He put the bag on his desk and made to bolt.

“Hey,” Cisco called as Hartley left the room. “Thanks.”

“Oh—“

“Just don’t talk about binding anymore. It hurts.”

“Right,” Hartley said. “Sorry.”

He’d fled completely, probably leaving the entire building by the time Cisco realized he’d just heard Hartley apologize for the first time in his life.

“Should’ve recorded it,” Cisco mumbled, grinning to himself.


	2. Breed Temperament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley gets a puppy. Cisco gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short; there'll be a longer chapter coming next! Enjoy this one, guys. :)

Cisco came home that night and turned on the television, channel surfing well into the late hours as he worked on his latest project from home, fine-tuning specs and roughing out the ideas for a pet project he’d been fiddling with alongside his work.

Cisco glanced up at the faint sound of something he remembered and blinked. _Yellow Submarine_ was on, and the song playing was one he remembered from—from—

“Oh,” he murmured. “Hartley was…”

Hartley had been playing this in his office one time. Why did he remember this so well? He could almost picture the expression on his face as the song had been playing. God damn it. Why was he thinking about Hartley or his stupid face?

Cisco glanced down at the kitten as he snuggled near Meowth, deep in thought.

“You know what?” he finally said. “You look like a Ringo.”

Ringo rolled around a little and squeaked. Cisco smiled. “Yeah, thought so.”

He drifted off that night, random snippets and bits of old Beatles songs winding through his head until he could force himself to sleep through the midst of his constant thoughts.

The next morning, Cisco found a cardboard box on his desk. He blinked, opening it up and staring down into the contents. He lifted up an immaculately tailored dress shirt and looked down at the slacks and blazer, rolling his eyes. His chest was hot, surprise simmering in his stomach.

“I regret naming the cat after you,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You jerk.”

Still, he put the box neatly under his desk, drumming his fingers as he worked, and he didn’t throw the box out or toss it aside. It took another hour, but eventually Caitlin came to his desk and sat down on the edge of it. Cisco grinned. “Hi, Cait. Everything okay?”

“Yeah! How’s the kitten?”

“Ringo’s fine,” Cisco said. Caitlin raised her eyebrows.

“You named him Ringo?” Caitlin said. “That’s strange. Hartley loves the Beatles.”

“Does he? I didn’t know,” Cisco lied. He cringed as the office doors slid open and Hartley entered the room, blinking, grinning, coming over to the two of them with an eager look on his face.

“You named the kitten Ringo, Cisco?” Hartley beamed. “Oh my god, that’s so cute. He’s my _favorite_ Beatle.”

“Seriously?” Cisco said, glancing aside. “Wow, that’s so weird.”

“Well, Paul’s okay,” Hartley shrugged. “George is good too, but Lennon beat his wife, so.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “Actually? I really like Selena. Oh, and Girls’ Generation.”

“Oh, but,” Hartley cocked his head. “You named him Ringo, though.”

_Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, watching Yellow Submarine in your office on break and grinning like an idiot, the happiest I’ve ever seen you, and oh my god. Jesus. Guess I’m an idiot too, then._

“Well,” Cisco said, “at least he’s _your_ favorite.”

“Yeah,” Hartley said. Caitlin looked between them, brows raised. Hartley’s face flushed. “You should, well…I think if you’d like, you should bring Ringo in, sometime. I’d like to see how he’s coming along.”

Cisco proffered up his phone. “I have pictures.”

“That’ll do for now,” Hartley said, imperious. Cisco rolled his eyes and passed him the phone. Hartley scrolled through the pictures without a word, examining the Ringo and Meowth shots. He didn’t tell Cisco, but he hovered over a few of Cisco’s playful selfies, committing to memory the grin Cisco never spared to shine on him.

Hartley passed the phone back and work continued on as normal. It was only when Cisco started packing up for the day, walking past Hartley on his way out, that Hartley said, “You know, my parents never liked animals. Filthy things. I…I guess having a pet is working out well for you, though?”

“Yeah, totally,” Cisco said, responding before he could remind himself this was Hartley, his mortal nemesis and all-around prick. “I mean, aren’t you living on your own? You don’t have to listen to your parents anymore, dude. That’s how I got my cat.”

“Oh,” Hartley said, vague and soft, like the idea had never occurred to him. “I suppose.”

He brushed past Cisco. “Also, you’re expected at the company dinner this weekend. I hope you’ll wear that outfit and look proper for once.”

Cisco stuck his tongue out, making a face and blowing a raspberry. Hartley’s back was to him, so he didn’t see how Hartley rolled his eyes—and then smiled, big and genuine, before getting into his car.

…

Two days later, Hartley showed up at the office with a dog.

“I had to make a few calls to some breeders in my parent’s Rolodex, but I found someone whose Boston terrier bitch had just started weaning her pups, so here we are,” Hartley said, putting an enormous handbag down. “Her name is Czarina Alexandra Olga Romanova. Or Olga, for short.”

Cisco stared. Olga wagged her tail.

“Well,” Cisco said. “That’s. Nice?”

“Isn’t she lovely? She was the prize of the litter, I paid cash on the spot before any other breeder could get their grubby little hands on her. She’s _beautiful,_ and her sire is descended from one of the original Boston terrier breeding lines, he’s just as nice—“

“Meowth’s part Persian, probably,” Cisco said. “And Ringo is orange.”

“Ringo is orange,” Hartley agreed. Cisco raised his eyebrows and glanced aside, blinking. “How is he?”

“Doing okay,” Cisco said. “When he’s a little bigger I’ll bring him back in, maybe.”

“Do so,” Hartley said, but the authoritative bite had folded under his genuine excitement like a cheap card table. “Olga is well-behaved, so there’s no issue if they happen to be here at the same time.”

“Sure,” Cisco said. “Why didn’t you go to the pound?”

Hartley paused, blinking. “Pardon?”

“Well,” Cisco continued, “you know, the lady there was kind of weird to me because I don’t always talk right, at least in a way that makes people happy, but they gave me Meowth because she was going to be put to sleep that day if I hadn’t come in and that’s not right! It’s not right. She’s so soft and nice and good and you know. You know. A lot of pets die. It’s not fair.”

He stared at a point just above Hartley’s shoulder, but he didn’t protest. He’d learned by now it wasn’t personal when Cisco did that.

“I like Olga though,” Cisco said, his voice quiet. “She’s…really cute. I mean. Don’t be mad. I have to go—“

“I’m not mad,” Hartley sighed. “God dammit.”

Cisco flinched, creeping around him to get to his work, and Hartley’s heart hurt. He swallowed down the bile and hot sulfur of frustration and nodded, letting him flee the room.

Hartley sat down at his desk with a thud, Olga standing in front of him, wagging her tail. He sighed and helped her into his lap, rubbing behind her ears.

“Maybe I’m an idiot,” he said to her. “I’m definitely doing something wrong, O, but I don’t know what.”

Olga wagged her tail harder. Hartley sighed. “Do you think I’m going about this the wrong way? He can’t possibly realize that I…”

He shook his head and clammed up as he pulled out a stack of blueprints, looking them over with a frown pulling at his face. He worked in silence with Olga curled on his lap, occasionally wagging her tail and whining in her sleep.

“So,” Hartley said as he put his work aside to get lunch, “how do you feel about other dogs?”


	3. Sail by the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley goes full Mr. Darcy post touching Elizabeth's hand on Cisco's cute bun. The two have an honest conversation about swimming, and sailing, and cufflinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, we're just going to say Hartley hasn't come out yet because I find it a much more interesting angle to work with, to be perfectly frank, and the show just sidestepping the issue of Hartley's dysfunctional parents and upbringing is dumb. So now I'm going to fix what they ignored. Roll with it, okay?  
> (As to why he's working for a rival company, eh. Let's chalk that one up to building up experience at other companies so as not to seem like a complete show of nepotism when he inherits.)

That Saturday afternoon, Cisco stood in front of his mirror in the suit Hartley had bought him, examining himself. It was tailored just enough that the details of his binder weren’t visible through the thick white cotton of the dress shirt, and the English cut wasn’t so tight that it made him feel uncomfortable with the soft, round curve of his hip. It was—it was—

“I mean,” he grimaced, holding up the cufflink box, “this is really nice. How do I tell him that, Meowth?”

Meowth rolled over on the bed, batting at the air. Cisco nodded. “Your input is appreciated, thank you. But I still don’t know how to put these things on.”

He put the box in his pocket and sat down, pulling on the shoes that went with the suit, running his fingers over the leather. “Feels nice, though.”

He brushed his hair and considered something about his appearance for a second before nodding, grabbing a tie off his dresser and putting it up in a bun, grinning at his reflection. “Okay, now I look fancy. It’s perfect, right Meowth?”

Meowth frisked her tail and chirped at him. He nodded, reaching down to rub her ears. “Gotta go, kitty. Cait’s coming. Take good care of Ringo, okay?”

She closed her eyes and started to purr as Caitlin rang the doorbell. Cisco grabbed a few necessities and went downstairs to meet her.

“You look so pretty,” he said, touching the velvet fabric of her dress. “That looks really comfy, too.”

“It is,” Caitlin grinned. “You’re okay? Nothing itches or feels too tight or, y’know?”

“No, it’s really soft,” Cisco said. “I mean the jacket’s a little scratchy because it’s wool, and there’s this weird lining inside of it, but the lining’s really soft, and—“

“Let me see,” Caitlin said, examining the jacket. A little tag peeked out at her as she ran her fingers over the lining, and she paused, squinting to read it properly. “Son of a bitch.”

“What? Is it bad?” Cisco squirmed. “Cait—“

“No, it’s—“

_That motherfucker had this damn thing lined with Hermés scarves!_

“It’s all right, Cisco,” Caitlin promised. “I was just surprised at how soft it was.”

“Oh, okay,” Cisco sighed. “We ready to go?”

“Absolutely, let’s hustle,” Caitlin said, unlocking her car so they could both climb in. “You nervous?”

“Um, no,” Cisco said. “But I can’t put on these cufflinks. Is that bad?”

“No, it’s fine, really, they’re tough,” Caitlin said. “When we get there I’ll pull Ronnie aside so he can help you. They totally suck, don’t worry, I have to help him with his.”

“Pair of extra hands helps,” Cisco agreed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, humming to himself. “Did Hartley arrange all this?”

“No, I mean, I think this is an investors thing,” Caitlin said. “We just have to be there and look nice and talk about our hopes for particle accelerator a little bit so we can get money. It’s just that Hart knows the best places to rent out so we look fancy.”

Cisco nodded. “Did he really want me here?”

“Duh, you’re working on the project,” Caitlin said, turning right up the road. “He really does think you’re smart, you know.”

“I think he does,” Cisco agreed. “He must, maybe? But I’m really nervous about talking to him again, Cait. I know it’s dumb, I just—“

“It’s not dumb, but I promise, he’s excited to see you,” Caitlin said, pulling into the parking lot.

What he _really_ was, she added privately, was a neurotic mess, having spent the past two hours texting her six different outfits and asking her which she thought Cisco would like best before discarding all of them and picking something else out entirely because she’d reminded him Cisco had aversions to certain textures.

“Oh,” Cisco murmured, getting out of the car and staring up at the restaurant, a huge fancy pilot house on the edge of the water, “okay.”

He trailed after Caitlin on their way inside, his heart hammering out dozens of new patterns against his chest, his head pounding, nervous and hesitant and hopeful all in equal measure. Ronnie was at the door, sweeping Caitlin up immediately into his arms, kissing her forehead. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, handsome!” Cait tucked her head under his chin. “You okay?”

“M’fine, it’s just been boring without you,” Ronnie said. “Cisco! You look…dude.”

“Thank you,” Cisco mumbled, looking away. “Really?”

“I love the bun,” Ronnie said. “Did you show Hartley?”

Cisco’s face got hot. “Um. No. Never. Maybe never. We should go find Wells instead?”

“He’s with Hart right now, actually. Let’s go find them, everybody else here is kinda boring,” Ronnie said. “They’re all investor types and Hart’s people, y’know?”

“Well, he does bring in funds,” Cait said. “Well. His family brings in funds.”

Cisco turned around and around, the dull roar of casual chatter firing off in his head. His hands itched and his chest hurt. He shook his head, taking a step back into someone, his body freezing up.

“Cisco,” Hartley said, looking down at him and adjusting his glasses. “Hello.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “Hi. Hey. You look nice. I wore the—the—“

He gestured down at his clothes, taking a step back. “You did a good job? They’re nice. They feel good. Thank you.”

Hartley opened his mouth only to find he couldn’t breathe. Cisco cocked his head, watching Hartley fall to pieces in front of him, fidgeting nervously.

“You,” Hartley said, then fell silent. Cisco looked away.

“Should I not have put my hair up?” he said, his brain immediately shrieking _idiot idiot why did you ask_ him _what does_ he _care—_

“You look stunning,” Hartley said, taking a step back. “I have to. Speak with Doctor Wells. I—“

He bolted. Cisco reached up and touched his hair, refusing to make eye contact. “Bad?”

“No,” Caitlin said. “Oh, no. He’s just—“

“He’s busy, man, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Ronnie promised. “These events always wind him up, dude. You’re okay!”

He went to touch Cisco and Caitlin shook her head. He nodded. “Right. Let’s go hang, okay? We’ll go find his table and chill.”

Cisco nodded, following after the two of them, watching the crowd of people and controlling his wildly beating heart as he settled in down at the table, watching people mill past.

Not too far away, Hartley slammed the door of the bathroom with both fists before he buried his face in his hands, trying to control his breathing, swallowing heavily.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered to himself, “oh my god oh my god oh my god—“

Breathe, he reminded himself. God. You can’t just push him up against the wall and kiss him right _here_ , your father’s golf friends and your mother’s damn realtor are all watching and if it gets back to _them_ —

Hartley gagged, stress making his chest hot. He wanted to say something. How did he say something? How did he tell someone who still hated his guts that he couldn’t breathe when he put his hair up in a bun because he was just—so—

Hartley shuddered, shoving his hair back, smoothing it down and adjusting his glasses. He licked his lips and pursed them until they started to bruise.

“Cisco,” he said to himself. “I would. If you’d like to—“

This wasn’t the sort of party where people danced. What a shame. Still; if there was ever a better incentive to arrange for that kind of party than Cisco, Hartley hadn’t heard of it yet.

Whistling to himself, Hartley unlocked the bathroom door, sauntering out like he hadn’t just had a full-scale meltdown over Cisco’s cute little bun, and sat at their table like he owned the place, which he didn’t. He just knew the man who did.

“Oh,” Cisco said by way of greeting, “you’re back?”

“Couldn’t find Wells,” Hartley said, “wanted to see you.”

“Oh, well,” Cisco said, shrugging. “Are we doing anything interesting?”

“We’re just avoiding journalists,” Ronnie said. “Most of the work on the particle accelerator is classified, so everything has to go through Doctor Wells first before we go blabbing about everything.”

“So, Cisco’s showing us videos of the cats,” Caitlin said. “Hart, come look!”

Cisco flinched. Hartley shook his head. “I shouldn’t. It’s—“

“No, it’s fine,” Cisco said, mostly to the table. “Here, I…I mean, here’s Ringo.”

Hartley leaned over the table, so close Cisco’s hair would’ve brushed his cheek if it hadn’t been pulled up. Which was fine. He was totally cool and fine.

“He’s so cute,” Cisco said. “I’m so glad he’s safe. If he’d died, I—“

“Hey,” Hartley cut in. “He didn’t. Because of you.”

Cisco paused for a second before nodding. “He’s getting big, you know.”

“I can tell,” Hartley said. Cisco winced.

“I mean—“

“No, it’s fine! I can tell, he’s chubby now,” Hartley said. “You’re taking good care of him.”

Cisco looked to the side, a small smile on his face. “Well, I’m trying.”

There was a silence after that, mostly because Hartley couldn’t figure out how to move away from Cisco without looking like he was pulling away in disgust, and, truth be told—he didn’t want to move. This was a good position. Even if he was cramped as hell.

“Tell me about Olga?” Cisco said. “How’s she doing?”

“Oh wow, hold on, here’s my phone—“

Caitlin looked at Ronnie and beckoned him away. He got up, following after her hand in hand, bumping right into Wells.

“Caitlin, Ronnie,” he said, his voice warm and welcoming. “I’d like you to accompany me for a minute, if that’s all right. I need to speak to some of our investors.”

“Oh, of course,” Caitlin said. “Anyone else, or—“

“Ah, speaking of. Has anyone seen Cisco or Hartley?”

Caitlin and Ronnie looked at each other.

“No,” Ronnie said. “Sorry, sir. I think they’re out getting some air.”

“That’s fine. Hartley will be able to meet these people on his own time. We’ll have to find Cisco later.”

Caitlin nodded and grabbed her phone as they weaved through the crowd.

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Hey asshole im doing you a favor so you owe me, but; Wells wants to find Cisco and probs take him for the rest of the night. You wanna keep him? Find some way to keep him busy.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

You’re a lifesaver and I’ll buy you dinner later

 

He put his phone away and looked up at Cisco. “Are you all right?”

“Fine! Do I not look fine? I mean it’s a little hot in here, but I can handle that, I’m great at dinner parties. Really.”

“I’m sure,” Hartley said, rolling around the idea for his response in his head, thinking hard. “Mm. Well. I must admit, I’m…”

He hesitated. But only for a second. “I’m actually not feeling my best right now. It _is_ a little crowded.”

Cisco glanced aside. “Well, we could—“

“I know this place,” Hartley rushed, cutting him off. “I mean, I know the owner. There’s an upstairs we could go to for privacy?”

“Are you sure?” Cisco said. “Really, I’m fine.”

“I’m not,” Hartley lied. “Would you…accompany me?”

Well, he defended himself, to himself, it wasn’t completely a lie. He hadn’t been all right since Cisco arrived with his hair pulled back wearing the _suit—_

“You really want me to?” Cisco said.

Hartley nodded. Cisco shrugged. “Oh. Well. Yeah, okay.”

Hartley relaxed, getting up and beckoning to him, his fingers itching to touch as he forced himself to hold back, Cisco’s face drawn with concern, nervous, shivering.

“Hartley?” Cisco said as soon as they were in a back hallway. “This is going to sound—bad, but I mean I—I, shit. Help.”

“What? What’s the matter?” Hartley said, turning around immediately, Cisco almost colliding with him. Cisco swallowed.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice even softer, “I can’t make the cufflinks work. I’m sorry. It’s dumb. I’m a freaking engineer and I—I couldn’t put them on—“

“It’s all right,” Hartley said, his throat tight, dry. “I mean, you’re not used to wearing them, I take it?”

“M’not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were, pay attention,” Hartley said, and Cisco made a face at him. He made a face back. “Well, what I _said_ was, you ought to be instructed on fastening them. I’ll help, just come here.”

For a second, Cisco hesitated; rivalry and bickering had run a rut into his brain, and he flinched away when Hartley reached out. Hartley lowered his hands and didn’t say a word.

“Sorry,” Cisco said. “I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t apologize,” Hartley said. “I understand. But I’m offering help now, if you’ll accept it.”

It took Cisco another minute to consider before he nodded. Hartley’s heart sang with sheer relief as Cisco held out his wrists.

“Where are they?” Hartley said, and Cisco started.

“Right, um, jacket pocket, I—“

Hartley reached into it and snatched up the velvet box without thinking. He only realized how Cisco had frozen up after he pulled away. Hartley flinched. “I didn’t—“

“It’s okay,” Cisco said. “Really, it’s all right. Sorry. Reflex.”

“You can work around reflexes,” Hartley remarked, flipping the lid of the box open with a snap. “Sometimes, anyhow.”

“I’m trying,” Cisco said, quiet, looking down at his wrists. Hartley slid the cufflinks out and tugged on Cisco’s sleeves, fastening them together and clipping the links. It was done in seconds, and Hartley passed him back the case wordlessly.

“You know,” he said, after a silence where Cisco wouldn’t meet his eyes, “it took me ages to do my cufflinks on my own. They’re really designed to require assistance.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, we like to give the illusion of independence,” Hartley said, and yes, he was using the royal _we,_ but Cisco nodded and smiled because it made Hartley smile, and that was—that was something.

Before they could stop and reflect on that something for too long in a quiet back hallway where they wouldn’t be disturbed if they started to kiss, Hartley led him into the back, up a spiral set of stairs, and into the empty upstairs ballroom.

“There we go,” he said, satisfied. “It’s much nicer up here. And there’s a beautiful view of the grounds from this window, come look, there’s a balcony—“

“You really know this place, huh?” Cisco said, following after him. Hartley beamed.

“Yes, I’ve attended some weddings here, dinner parties—I think a wine tasting once? I do love this place. Love the water.”

“Oh, it’s kinda,” Cisco said. “I like swimming. But—“

He gestured uselessly at his chest. “Sometimes it’s tough.”

“Would a wetsuit help?” Hartley said. Cisco shrugged.

“If I really wanted,” he said. “But I mean one, swimming season’s over, and two, it…I dunno, it feels weird being on a beach with other people staring, and—I don’t want them to see—“

He stopped. Hartley didn’t push.

“Don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Cisco said. “It’s dumb, isn’t it?”

“No,” Hartley said. “No, never.”

Cisco nodded. They sat together in silence and watched the moon cast a silver sheen over the water, shifting and blanketing the whole world in the transformative glow of moonlight.

“We own a beach house,” Hartley said, “on a private section of beach, and a boat. I know how to sail, I mean, and if you wanted I could—I could take you someplace where you could swim however you wanted. And no one would be able to bother you. If that would be sufficient?”

Cisco blinked. “You can do all of that?”

“If you’d like,” Hartley said.

“Can you really sail?”

“I’d be embarrassed if I couldn’t,” Hartley said. Cisco made a face before he shook his head, grinning.

“You’re such a…y’know,” he said. “I mean, I think I could stand to associate you if you suddenly forgot how to sail, Hart.”

Hartley burst out laughing, which was good, because it made Cisco forget he’d just called Hartley _Hart,_ like they were—

“I’m grateful, then,” Hartley said. “My offer still stands. If you’d like?”

Cisco cocked his head, twiddling his hair around his fingers. Hartley settled in and waited.

“Teach me how to sail,” Cisco said. “It’d be nice, I think.”

“It would be,” Hartley agreed. “It really would be.”

They both sat upstairs in silence for as long as could be managed; Cisco started to fidget, fiddling with his hair, but kept silent, trying not to show off what he was doing, biting his lip.

“You’re okay,” Hartley promised. Cisco nodded.

It took another minute or so, but he started to hum; soft, tuneless, drawn out. Hartley tried for a second to match it and couldn’t. Still, it made Cisco lift his head, blinking, grinning. Hartley’s chest hurt.

“So are you?” he said. “Do you feel—I mean, uh…should we go downstairs?”

“Are you comfortable with that?”

“I mean, I’d be okay,” Cisco said after a moment’s pause. “But—a few more minutes up here would be nice.”

Hartley nodded, settling in. They sat in silence and watched the moon.

“Tell me about sailing?” Cisco said, and Hartley did.

…

They didn’t actually go downstairs for another half hour, and the dinner party was mostly over, which was fine by Cisco. Caitlin looked them both up and down before giving Hartley a longer, heavier look Cisco couldn’t quite read.

“Do I have your permission to take him home, Hart?” Caitlin said. Hartley sniffed, turning aside.

“He’s not an object,” he said. “Do as you like, Cisco.”

“Well I mean, she did drive me here,” Cisco said. “I, uh…see you tomorrow at work?”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“Shit,” Cisco mumbled, glancing down before he could see how he’d made Hartley smile. “I—right, okay, bye?”

“I’ll see you Monday, Cisco,” Hartley said. “Get him home safe, Caitlin.”

Caitlin made a face at him and hustled Cisco out the door and into her car, climbing in as Cisco sat crosslegged in shotgun, staring up at the stars.

“Cait?”

“Mm?”

“Do you know how to sail?”

“What? No. God, no. Why?”

Cisco turned back, watching Hartley bid the last round of important-looking guests goodbye, his gaze somewhere else, like he was still trying to find the moon. “No reason.”


	4. Set the Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley is gay, and a tsundere. This is not a shock. Cisco is slowly putting the pieces together on this whole 'love' thing. Caitlin is just fucking fed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting the few extra days on an update, guys, it means a lot! Pre-finals stuff has me swamped right now. Thanks for everyone's patience, and enjoy!

The next Monday at work, Hartley brought Olga in and retreated into his office to plan. Cisco only saw him once that day, opening the door for Wells. He wasn’t bothered by it, really. That was why he ate lunch at his desk, one eye trained on Hartley’s office door, waiting for him to come out, which he only did just as Cisco was packing up hours later to head home.

Before Hartley went to the pound, Cisco went home, his chest still hot with embarrassment, hurting under his binder. He took it off on the way up the stairs to his apartment, fumbling with it and sliding inside his house, Meowth trotting over to him immediately, yelling in welcome, Ringo waddling behind her squeaking.

Cisco smiled, dropping to his knees and lifting his shirt off so he could strip his binder and put it aside, before putting his tee shirt back on so Ringo and Meowth could crawl into his lap and get cat hair all over it.

“I don’t know how to make Hartley like me,” Cisco sighed. “And honestly? I don’t know why I _want_ to! He’s a _dick!”_

 _But he really hasn’t been lately,_ a soft voice in his head reminded him. _Hasn’t he been asking you for pictures of Ringo more? And listening to you when you talk?_

“He’s still a dick all the time,” Cisco said. “Forever. He’s the worst.”

_Then why did you name your cat after something he loves?_

“Shut the fuck,” Cisco told his internal monologue, rubbing behind Ringo’s ears. “Meowth? I literally want to die.”

Meowth bumped her head against his hand, wriggling it into his cupped fingers for maximum petting. Cisco smiled. “No, I know. I wouldn’t do that to you. Who would feed you?”

They both trotted over to the kitchen at the vaguest mention of food, and Cisco got up with a groan to open their food cans, splitting a can of wet food in half, mixing it with some leftover formula for Ringo and giving Meowth a full can. Meowth whisked her tail from side to side and ate. Ringo had climbed halfway onto the plate by the time Cisco helped him out, laughing.

“You’re a mess,” he said, putting Ringo down near Meowth. “Here, mama. He’s your problem.”

Meowth started to lick Ringo so hard he fell over, wriggling in defeat as Meowth tended to him. Cisco smiled, sitting down on the kitchen floor and playing his DS, fiddling with it as the clock ticked, the hours whiling by until Meowth put her head in his lap. He blinked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “Wow, I spaced out bad, huh? I should…I should probably eat, I think.”

He stood up and grimaced, rifling through his fridge. “Okay. Order food, shower, and _then_ eat.”

Ten minutes later, Cisco was standing in the shower, staring at nothing, his mind drifting, whirling, thinking. It kept turning back to Hartley, some part of his thoughts always turning traitor, thinking of his stupid glasses and his soft skin and his dumb hair or the way he smiled when music was playing, secret and quick for a second before it was stuffed behind whatever walls he put up.

Or, Cisco noted, someone else had put up for him.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “I want to stop thinking about this so bad, what the fuck…”

He reached out, grabbed the conditioner, wound it through his locks. “God, this is dumb. Why him? I have other stuff to think about. Cats. Pokemon. Something that’s not—“

When he’d brought up his parents, he’d looked so _sad._

Cisco sighed, scooting out of the shower’s spray to let the conditioner sit, steadfast in not thinking about Hartley, at all, or his dumb Beatles affection or the way he’d looked at his new dog or actually apologized once and handed Cisco things for Meowth because he’d listened when he’d talked, and—

“You know,” Cisco said to the shower spray, “this obsessive autistic stuff is really exhausting.”

He laughed, just a little, and stepped back under the shower, focusing on how it felt against his skin, his hair, and disassociated as hard as possible until the doorbell rang for his food.

…

Two weeks ticked by as normal. Cisco tried to avoid Hartley altogether, for the most part, including questions about Ringo, which were hastily deflected while he stared at the floor and fiddled with his hair. Hartley didn’t ever bother trying to mask his exhaustion and frustration, because Cisco didn’t notice, couldn’t notice, but Caitlin could and did and was frankly getting fed up with this.

So, on a Friday night, Cisco settled in for a night of replaying his copy of _Pokemon Platinum_ and had Caitlin on speaker next to him. Meowth occasionally reached out and batted the phone gently, but otherwise left it alone, snuggled with Ringo nestled against her.

The conversation flowed, smooth, easy and casual, until Caitlin finally ventured, “So, Cisco! Hartley’s really wanted to see Ringo.”

“Can’t bring him to work, probably isn’t safe,” Cisco said.

“You didn’t mind before.”

“I did it like the once, because he was small and needed body heat,” Cisco said. “Now he’s fine. Meowth is taking care of him.”

“Oh, that’s a good thing,” Caitlin said. “So why don’t you invite Hartley over to your place to see Ringo? It’d be easier to—“

Cisco ended the call.

Not two seconds later, his phone started to vibrate. He let it die out, until it immediately started again. And again. And again.

Meowth lifted her head and grumbled. Cisco threw his hands up, almost hitting himself in the face with his DS. “Look, I know! Do _you_ wanna talk to her about it?”

Meowth chirruped. Cisco made a face. “Don’t get smart with me, little missy.”

The phone rang again. This time, Cisco answered.

“No.”

“Francisco—“

“Dude, no! He’s just gonna laugh because my apartment’s all ratty and not bougie Wes Anderson influenced garbage, I don’t wanna deal with that, this is _my house_ and _I’m safe here—“_

“Cisco,” Caitlin said, her voice gentle, “he’s really trying. He’s just an idiot, I think.”

“I know he’s an idiot.”

“No, I mean, socially,” Caitlin said. “I knew him before you, you know, and his parents—he’s in a bad way. They fucked him up, Cisco, like your parents fucked with you.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“No,” Caitlin said. “Just some understanding.”

“I’m not going to visit him.”

“I’m just saying,” Caitlin offered, “make the offer if you want.”

“I don’t,” Cisco said, then hedged. “He’d just laugh at me.”

“I don’t think so, Cisco,” Caitlin said. “You should sleep soon, but…you know. Ask him for me, okay? He’s the reason we’re friends, you know.”

Cisco made a face and mumbled something noncommittal. “Night, Caitlin.”

“Night,” she said, hanging up. Two seconds later, she tapped on her messages and texted Hartley.

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Cisco’s gonna ask you if you’d like to see Ringo tomorrow and when he does you had better fucking agree and invite him to your house. You got me?

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Wait, what?

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Listen buster if I have to sit there and watch you drool over him like a desperate dog any more I am going to LOSE MY MIND. He thinks you HATE HIM, Hart, because you are being a STANDOFFISH ASSHOLE. You want to fuck him? FIX IT

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

I don’t understand???

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Look it doesn’t matter but so help me god if you fuck this up I’ll lose my mind. Also if you break his heart I will destroy your career and your dick. That’s a promise

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Your faith in me is inspiring.

 

Still, Hartley shut off his phone and flopped over in bed, grinning to himself at the thought of tomorrow.

…

The day ticked by and every second was torture, Hartley’s dignity on the stretching rack as he waited and prayed and hoped for Cisco to turn to him and say the magic words.

He did not.

Not in the morning over coffee, not in the afternoon during lunch, and not as he was preparing to go home. Hartley’s entire body was on edge, fidgeting and needy and desperate.

That was his justification for bolting down the stairs out the door after Cisco and saying, “Excuse me? Cisco—“

Cisco turned and Hartley had a second to consider that he was lighting himself on fire emotionally, and, if this went the wrong way, literally, before he gave up and said, “I am hosting dinner at my home this Saturday, and it would give me great pleasure if you would accompany me.”

Silence.

“And wear that outfit I picked for you,” Hartley said. “And bring Ringo.”

More silence still.

“Why?”

Hartley shrugged. “I’d…like to see him.”

“He’s too young to transport,” Cisco said. “Can’t separate him from Meowth yet. It’s not safe. And you have that dog—“

“Olga would never,” Hartley protested. Cisco shook his head.

“Still. It’s for the best,” he said.

“Ah. Well.”

The two stood outside on the front steps. Cars rushed by. Hartley wondered, idly and not for the first time, what it would feel like to be struck down by one.

“Very well,” he said, his voice tight. “I still request that you…you ought…I’d…”

He gestured. “At six. Cait can give you the address. Don’t be late.”

He didn’t wait for a response; he turned, stiff and sharp, making his way down the street, and then as soon as he thought he was out of Cisco’s range of vision, booking it as fast as he could.

Cisco just stared, head cocked, sighing before yelling back, “Didn’t you bring your car today?”

Hartley was already too far away to hear him.


	5. Well Furnished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley loves the only way he knows how: by throwing money at people's problems. Cisco learns a lot about understanding other people. The new kitty goes to the vet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd call this chapter a pretty big turning point! I think this is when they really start to understand each other, and I love that. They're both learning, because this is some Pride and Prejudice levels of misunderstandings and tension, to be honest.

Cisco opened his door and kneeled down to greet Meowth immediately, rubbing her cheeks. “Hey girl. Hartley’s making me show up at his place this weekend.”

Meowth squeaked, frisking her tail. Cisco rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. But like, even though he’s a dick, I’m not gonna skip out on him. I’m not gonna stoop to his level, y’know?”

Meowth meowed. Cisco made a face. “No, I’m not just going because I want to hang out with him. And no, I’m not talking to you just because I’m lonely and want some company—although that’s kind of part of it…”

Meowth climbed into his lap and Cisco slumped against the closed door. For a little while, he and Meowth and Ringo just sat, and Cisco held Ringo until Meowth started to nip at his hand and he released him into the care of his mother, getting up to get dinner while Meowth trotted into the kitchen, Ringo dangling from her mouth.

Cisco made them dinner, then made himself dinner, sitting down on his mattress and sighing. “I really need to get some new furniture.”

He spent the rest of his night quiet, eating dinner and eventually ice cream when the mood struck him, watching television and being joined by Meowth and Ringo on the mattress until he drifted off, still holding the bowl of ice cream, which was melting to milk in his hand.

When he awoke, he stretched out and blinked, looking up. A cat was looking down at him. Not Meowth, not Ringo. A new cat, sitting politely, tail curled over her paws, blinking. Cisco blinked back, closing his eyes and laying his head down for a few seconds more.

He lifted his head. The cat was still there. Cisco groaned, getting up.

He got dressed, pulling his shoes on and padding into the kitchen. Meowth and Ringo were already there, and the mystery cat had joined them. Cisco nodded, giving her the halves from Ringo’s breakfast and dinner yesterday, setting a plate down in front of her. He made food for Meowth, and mixed up milk and wet food for Ringo before grabbing his bag.

“Bye, kitties,” he said, closing the door and managing to make it halfway down the stairs before he realized what had just happened.

…

“So,” Cait said, crossing her legs in her chair, “a cat just…showed up?”

“Yeah,” Cisco explained. “She woke me up this morning. Don’t know how she got in—must’ve left a window open or something. So I fed her.”

“Cisco, she might be rabid,” Caitlin sighed. Cisco made a face.

“I’ll take her to the vet after work, but she wasn’t displaying any symptoms of rabies, Cait. It’s more likely she’s a stray who smelled other cats and knew my apartment was a safe place to stay,” Cisco said. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to adopt another cat, but sure, if she needs a warm bed…”

He winced. “That’s about all I can offer right now anyway. I really can’t afford any new furniture right now, you know? I just started therapy and I’m paying out of pocket.”

“You’re going? Oh, Cisco,” Caitlin beamed, grabbing his hand and squeezing. Cisco lifted his head, listening to the door close behind them.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s good, you know? Doctor Wells said it was a good idea. I’m okay. I’m. Y’know.”

He shook his head and tucked his hair behind his ear, playing with it, twiddling it in his fingers. “Sorry. Anyway. I’ll make an appointment with the vet, keep you posted.”

“If she’s still there when you get home,” Caitlin said. Cisco nodded.

“She will be,” he said, mostly to himself as he picked up his tablet and sat cross-legged in his chair, continuing his project from yesterday.

He didn’t speak to Hartley that day; for some reason, he was holed up in his office, not talking to Caitlin or Cisco or anyone at all, spending the whole day on the phone. Cisco didn’t notice, aside from a quiet internal acknowledgment of relief from the constant tension in his belly.

He went home that day and lifted his head, watching the clouds idle by, thinking of Hartley before he could stop himself. Was Hartley all right? Had he done something wrong?

“Doesn’t matter,” Cisco sighed. “Shouldn’t matter.”

Still, the tension was back, curling in his belly, muttering Hartley’s name to itself over and over as he walked back to his apartment, climbed the stairs, and dropped his bag in the hallway.

“Oh my god,” Cisco said. “What the fuck?”

There was a couch sitting out in his hallway, covered in plastic wrap; a mattress leaned against the wall, a pile of blankets and sheets stacked beside it. There was a new oven sitting in the hallway, a microwave perched on top of it, boxes full of posts for a four-post bed and a plastic case stuffed with a sheer curtain for a _canopy,_ and Jesus _Christ—_

Cisco stepped over all of it, opened the door, and poked his head inside. Meowth and Ringo were at the door already, squeaking excitedly at the sight of him. The new cat sat on his mattress, watching him.

“Hi,” Cisco said. “You like that mattress, huh?”

She frisked her tail, curling it up into a quirk. Cisco nodded. “Right, right. Ready for a trip to the vet?”

She blinked. Cisco sighed. “Yeah. I gotta move all this stuff first, though.”

His mind had shut down, going on autopilot as he pulled the mattress inside and the sheets and the couch and the oven and microwave. It took him three hours, and he had to call the landlord to install the new oven and plug in the new microwave and eventually he just slept on his old mattress after making an appointment with the vet because he was too exhausted to unpack—or think about who bought him all the pricey stuff now sitting in his apartment.

…

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Hey asshole I told you to be nice to him not buy him the entire goddamn Ikea catalog

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Well HE doesn’t know I did it, does he?

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

WELL I DON’T KNOW HARTLEY DOES HE? WHO ELSE IS GOING TO THROW AROUND THOUSANDS LIKE IT’S CHUMP CHANGE?

 

Text To: Cait

Text From: Hart

Yes but does he KNOW has he said anything?

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

He asked me if I was invited to dinner this weekend at your place and I said yes.

 

Text To: Cait

Text From: Hart

You fucking bitch

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Look, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t have your way with him in the bathroom.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

I BOUGHT HIM FURNITURE? I THINK MY INTENTIONS ARE VERY CLEAR?

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Keep in mind he’s autistic, Hart.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Yes but not STUPID! He simply understands and processes things differently and that’s fine! How could anyone mistake intent when someone orders you new furniture?

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Let me put it this way. When you step in and do these things, he might not be hearing, ‘Hartley is doing this because he has a big dumb ugly stupid crush on me,’ he might be hearing, ‘Hartley thinks I’m an idiot who’s too stupid and crazy and bad to provide for themselves.’

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Right, right. So I shouldn’t tell him I paid off his gender therapist or…

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

OH MY GOD

 

Hartley turned his phone off and stood up. This would have to be dealt with, then.

He threw the door open and pointed at Cisco. “My office. Now.”

Cisco flinched, pulling away. Hartley winced. Right. Shit. Okay. Try again. “Cisco, I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

He still regarded Hartley, deceptively calm, his eyes churning with fear. Hartley winced. “You’re not in trouble. It’s just urgency in other matters. Okay?”

Finally, mercifully, Cisco nodded. “Mmhm.”

He followed Hartley into his office and Hartley shut the door before turning around and holding his hands up. “Before you get mad I’m going to lay all this on the table: I paid off Doctor Calaghan, and all that furniture was from me, and no matter what Cait said it’s not from Ikea because I’m not a cheapskate, it’s good quality and it’ll last you, there’s a Hepplewhite dresser I arranged for on short notice it should be delivered shortly and—“

“I’m trans,” Cisco said, his voice quiet, trembling, “not a prostitute.”

Hartley slumped back, hit the lip of his desk with a thud, his tailbone protesting. “Pardon?”

“I’m not,” Cisco said, his voice cracking, raising, like magma pushing through the earth, “going to suck your _dick_ because you _bought this,_ I’m not going to _owe you,_ I’m not your gross fucked up fetish toy, I’m not going to just let you use me for—f-for—“

“No,” Hartley said, holding his hands up. “No, no no no. No. Oh, Jesus. Please wait.”

“I’m not a _whore,”_ Cisco said, tears running down his face as he screamed, “you don’t get to touch me _, no one_ gets to _touch me,_ shut up, shut up shut up _leave—“_

“Okay,” Hartley said, going for the door. Cisco stopped mid-breath, choking on it, wrapping one arm around his chest.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Hartley said. “It’s fine. Use the office as long as you need to. White noise machine’s in the corner, though this place is pretty soundproofed.”

He opened the door and left. Cisco stared at the door after he’d gone, wiping his eyes and taking deep breaths, undoing the back of his binder so he could take in more air, his chest expanding gratefully.

He sat on Hartley’s desk and closed his eyes. He recited the Pokerap in fragments, slowly pulling them together in order so he could recite internally, _Electrode Diglett Nidoran Mankey Venusaur Rattata Fearow Pidgey—_

Cisco climbed off the desk once he could control his breathing, leaving the office, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as he sat back down and didn’t look up from his work until it was dark out and Caitlin was shaking his arm.

“You have a vet appointment in an hour,” she said. “You told me yesterday. Let’s go.”

Cisco nodded, letting Cait walk him home, help him get the cat into the carrier, and hailed a taxi to take him over to the vet’s with the cat in tow, the three of them waiting in the office as the cat was examined.

“Well,” Cisco’s vet said, sitting down next to him with the cat meowing in the carrier between them, “she’s not microchipped, and she seems to be a little malnourished and carrying fleas, but otherwise healthy. You should flea-treat all three cats once you’re home.”

“Three?” Cisco said.

“I assume you’re keeping her,” she said, brows raised. Cisco laughed.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “She sorta made that decision already, huh?”

“She did,” the vet agreed. “So. Do you have any name ideas?”

“Huh? Oh, hell,” Cisco said, glancing to Caitlin. “Any ideas? I mean Ringo was—after—you know, but you…”

“Nyota Uhura,” Caitlin said. “I mean, you love _Star Trek.”_

“True,” Cisco agreed. “I’ll do you one better: Nyota Upurra.”

They high fived and the vet sighed, writing it down on the paperwork. “Then Nyota is safe to go home, Cisco. Don’t forget to do flea treatment.”

Cisco nodded, hefting Nyota up and leaving with Caitlin, standing out on the sidewalk and trying to hail a cab.

“Are you doing okay?” Caitlin asked. Cisco shook his head. She sighed. “Right. Hartley?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Can you talk to me right now?”

“Don’t want to.”

“Okay. I understand,” Caitlin said. “Do you not want to go Saturday?”

“I don’t know.”

“When do you think you’ll feel like talking about this?”

“I,” Cisco swallowed. “Caitlin? Could…could I have Hartley’s number?”

“You don’t already?” Caitlin said. “Yeah, here. Just promise me you’re not going to flip your lid on him.”

“Sure.”

“I mean, Cisco,” Caitlin sighed. “He really, really likes you. I want you to know that.”

“It doesn’t _change_ anything,” Cisco snapped. Caitlin nodded.

“It doesn’t. But I want you to now he’s never done anything like this. Not for anyone. He’s fumbling and fucking up and making mistakes because I think you’re the first person he’s ever been this nice to.” Caitlin squeezed his hand. “Just keep it in mind?”

“Sure,” Cisco said. “I want to go home.”

“We will,” Caitlin said. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I,” Cisco shook his head. “I want to sleep.”

“Don’t forget to give the flea treatments to the cats,” Caitlin said. “Okay?”

Cisco nodded. They bundled into a cab and drove to Cisco’s apartment. He couldn’t make eye contact, and Nyota’s howls of frustration from inside the carrier made him roll his head and pull at his hair, pushing his tongue against his teeth and whining.

Caitlin helped him with Nyota inside and said, “I know you want to sleep, so let me order dinner? I’ll pay. You crash for an hour.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “Sure. Okay. I’m…”

He opened the door and let Nyota out to greet Meowth and Ringo. He shook his head. “Routine first. Routine stuff, I got this, c’mere, time for dinner, hi babies…”

Ringo waddled after him as Cisco mashed his wet food into milk with a fork, setting it down. Meowth bumped his hand, rubbing her cheek against it. Cisco smiled, just a little. “Thank you.”

Nyota ate separately from Ringo and Meowth, which Cisco didn’t push; that was a cat thing. He fed them, snapped open the flea treatment capsules, and treated all of them for fleas before washing his hands and sweeping past Caitlin. Cisco crawled onto the mattress as Caitlin sighed and ordered dinner while stripping plastic wrap from the furniture, propping it up and reorganizing what she could around Cisco as he hid under his blanket and texted Hartley.

 

Text From:

Text To: Jerk

It’s me.

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To:

Oh my god. Cisco?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

Hi.

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

Hi. Oh, wow. How are you feeling?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

It’s fine.

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

No, it’s not fine. Please don’t give up all this furniture or change therapists because I did something stupid. I thought I was helping.

 

Text To: Jerk

Text From: Mi Alma

No. I’m not going to let anyone own me or touch me ever

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

I don’t want to own you. I don’t want to do anything to make you upset. I wanted you to have support. Your family doesn’t support you, do they?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

Doesn’t matter

 

Text To: Mi Alma

Text From: Jerk

Does too. It matters to me that no one’s looking out for you, Cisco. It’s unacceptable. You should have a comfortable home. And your cats should, too.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

Don’t bring them into this

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

Then don’t name them in my honor!

 

Cisco didn’t text him back for a long time after that. Hartley groaned, rubbing his temples with his phone, until it pinged again.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

I don’t want to be used.

 

Text To: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

I promise, you’re not. I did this for you. Not for me. Not for anything else. I just—I mean. You could set me on fire tomorrow and I’d still let you keep the furniture.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

I’m considering it.

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

Fair

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Jerk

Haha okay. Then can I ask something? Why did you do this for me?

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

Hold on give me a minute

 

Cisco didn’t wait for a text; dinner came, and so he ate with Caitlin, the two of them sharing barbeque, Cisco methodically wiping his fingers down after each rib. It was midway through the last rib that his phone rang again and Cisco grimaced, wiping his fingers after passing the rest of the rib to Caitlin.

What he didn’t know was that in the twenty minutes prior to receiving this text, Hartley had paced the length and breadth of his house three times, taken Olga for two short walks up and down the street, and screamed into his dryer before sending it, which was probably for the best.

 

Text From: Jerk

Text To: Mi Alma

I just wanted you to have something nice. You work hard and you’ve got awful parents and I know what that’s like. And I like to think of you being happy and comfortable. You should be. I’m sorry. I have to go. Will I see you Saturday?

There was no response. Hartley’s palms started to sweat so much he briefly considered if his phone was going to slip from his grasp.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Yeah def. I’m going to bed in a bit tho. Ttys? Here’s a pic of Ringo

 

Hartley quietly saved the picture Cisco sent him of his hand gently cupping Ringo against his face, his little paw patting his cheek, and made it his home screen before putting his phone down for the night.


	6. Marquis Arturion Brutus Ranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley gets a new old dog. Cisco gets a good night's sleep, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pit bulls are a beautiful underappreciated breed, and if you ever have the chance to adopt one I highly recommend them! They are such big sweet lovies and they need care and affection!   
> Big things coming in the next few chapters, so stay tuned~

Friday afternoon after work, Hartley took his car downtown, Olga sleeping in the back with a tiny blanket covering her, and pulled up to a dismal-looking building, clipping Olga’s leash on and hefting her up out of the car.

He walked into the pound, put Olga down, and flashed the girl at the counter his tried and true cotillion smile.

“Hey,” he said, “do you have any dogs for adoption?”

She flashed him a smile back and beckoned him forward. “Right this way!”

He didn’t know it was the same girl who had sneered at Cisco, because if he had he would have either tried to get her fired or murdered, so he followed behind with Olga trotting at his heels and looked down the rows and rows of cages, his stomach churning. This was about as far from a two-story quaint colonial with an enormous backyard full of puppies that he could imagine. But Cisco’s words rang in his head, and so he knelt down and started to examine cage after cage, deep in thought.

Eventually, he paused, knelt down across from a cage with no nametag attached, and took a picture before sending it to Cisco.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Hey, how’s this one look?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Is that a dog?

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

As opposed to?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Shut??

Hes adorable tho I do love him a lot

U should call him Ranger he looks like a Ranger

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Doesn’t he come with a name? it should be on his certificate?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Hart………

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Ranger it is, then.

 

Hartley rubbed behind the pit bull’s ear, examining his face. Ranger blinked, big and placid, regarding him with one shining sapphire eye and one heavy, milky one.

Hartley opened the cage door and let Ranger climb out, laying down in his lap immediately, his broad, grizzled head on Hartley’s knee. Olga bounced around him, tail wagging, shaking her bottom with excitement before climbing on top of Ranger, her paws scrabbling along his flank. Ranger snorted, but otherwise let her clamber onto him, her tiny claws mussing up his splotchy white and grey coat. Ranger’s whip tail whirled, slapping Hartley on the thigh.

“Good boy,” Hartley murmured. “What’dya think, O?”

Olga snuffled, licking behind Ranger’s ears and yipping at Hartley. He nodded. “Right. So that’s that, then.”

The girl from before came trotting down the hallway, her manager in tow. “Oh, sir? That dog has to come with us, actually. He’s getting on in years and with his eye…”

“Nope,” Hartley said, getting up, peeling two hundred dollar bills off a fold in his wallet, pressing it into her hand. “Actually, he’s coming with me.”

Twenty minutes of paperwork and processing later, Marquis Arturion Brutus Ranger was sitting in shotgun, his tail going fifty miles an hour as Hartley took a video of him before driving off, returning home with two dogs in tow.

…

Cisco flopped down on his new bed that night, rolling over in it, over and over until he almost tumbled out of it. The bed was big enough for him, Meowth, Ringo, and Nyota to all have a chunk of the bed to themselves, and probably fit another person, too.

He checked the clock on his nightstand and groaned, shoving his face into the pillow before rolling over again. Meowth made a disgruntled noise in her sleep at Cisco bouncing the mattress. He fumbled, grabbing for his phone and checking his notifications, texting the first person on his screen without thinking.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Cant sleep

 

Hartley jerked himself awake, grabbing his phone and swallowing hard when he saw whose name was on the screen. He opened the message immediately, his fingers trembling.

 

Text To: Mi Alma

Text From: Hart

It’s all right, neither can I. Something the matter?

 

Text To: Hart

Text From: Mi Alma

Dunno. I just?

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

It’s okay. Do you want to talk, or do you want me to talk?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Tell me about Ranger?

 

Text To: Mi Alma

Text From: Hart

He’s settling in well! He reminds me of what you said about Meowth. He was very old and they were going to put him to sleep, but he’s not ill-tempered or skittish at all. He’s pretty spry for an old dog. Olga loves him already, she keeps following him on his blind side to nudge him away from corners?

 

Text To: Hart

Text From: Mi Alma

Oh my god that’s adorable? What a good boy!!!

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

So how’s Ringo?

 

In response, Cisco sent him a picture; Ringo sitting on his chest and sleeping, Cisco’s eyes half-closed, a little smile on his face. Hartley pressed his phone close to his chest, shivering.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

You sure look comfortable in that bed. Suits you.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Haha thanks <3 it is really comfy…but its huge, hart, this is sooo unnecessary. I have more space than I could ever need??

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

You could share it.

 

Cisco didn’t respond. Hartley buried his face into his pillow and groaned. Too far, way too far, god damn it to hell—

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Yeah, Meowth and Ringo and Nyota are all hanging out.

 

Hartley rubbed his temples, smiling. “God. Should’ve guessed.”

Next time he would be more direct. Maybe. Probably. If his heart could handle it.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Sounds perfect. do you feel any better?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Do I have to wear that suit tomorrow? It makes me look super stuffy.

 

No, it didn’t. It made him look divine, made Hartley’s mouth water and his belly hang heavy in his guts with want, burning with the urge to throw him up against the wall and work his pants open, sliding his fingers inside and—

Fuck. He’d almost died at the dinner party and no one had noticed. Caitlin and Ronnie’s casual chatter, his idle bickering with Wells, the soft conversations had all swirled around him before being promptly cast aside because fuck, Cisco—

Hartley swallowed, kneading his forehead with the heel of his palm, grimacing. Still. Wasn’t there something warm and comforting about Cisco in his silly tee shirts with stupid slogans and his comfy, casual jeans? They were so relaxed, so well-worn, it would be so god damn easy to just slide his hand in, past his jeans into his briefs and—

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

You may wear what you like.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Haha oh man that’s a relief? thank you. I think I can sleep now. you didn’t have to talk to me but you did, you know? You should sleep too. Gnight, Hart.

 

Text To: Mi Alma

Text From: Hart

Goodnight, Cisquito. Sleep well.

 

He put his phone down, pushed his face into his pillow, and screamed quietly until he rolled over onto his back and grimaced, putting his hand over his face.

 

Text To: Cait

Text From: Hart

Actually, I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow, or I might fuck him against the table until he cries. Or I cry.

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Told ya so


	7. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco has aversions to certain foods and textures, and Hartley is high key about it as usual, like he is with everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're slowly chugging along to the climax and the big stuff! Hope you're all enjoying the ride! :)

 

The next morning, Cisco stared at himself in the mirror and examined his outfit from all angles, adjusting his shirt and cocking his head, watching his own gaze in the mirror.

He’d compromised; the gorgeous dress shirt tailored to his exact measurements was mildly wrinkled and slung carelessly over his lucky tee shirt; a Pikachu and a Togepi in a heart with ‘best friends’ written under it in hiragana. He wore jeans—the exact jeans Hartley had been having impure thoughts about last night, actually—and a tee shirt, but he did put the cufflinks on the ends of the dress shirt.

“Why the hell did he buy me cufflinks?” Cisco asked Meowth as she chewed on a piece of tinfoil on his bed. She batted at the tinfoil before wriggling her butt and pouncing on it. Cisco laughed. “Glad we had this talk.”

Ringo kneaded at his mother’s belly and Cisco laid down on the bed next to him, holding up his phone. “Here, _gordi._ Let me take a few pictures of you for Hart.”

A little thrill fluttered through him at the thought; was it the cute kitten pictures he was taking or the idea of Hartley taking the chance to revel in them, delighted?

Ringo started to purr so hard his whole body vibrated. Cisco smiled, taking a video. Nyota climbed up onto the bed over his back, jumping off his shoulder to land next to Meowth, putting her head on Meowth’s shoulder. Meowth miaowed companionably, nudging at Nyota with the side of her cheek. Cisco closed his eyes, relaxing, utterly at ease with his cats.

He probably would’ve stayed there for the rest of the night, casually disassociating, if Caitlin hadn’t come to pick him up, banging on the door. “Francisco! Let’s go!”

“Oh, right, shit,” Cisco mumbled to himself, looking around frantically for shoes and slipping on the closest pair he could find; a bright orange, red, and yellow pair of sneakers, bolting for the door and opening it, grinning. “Cait?”

“Oh, jeez,” Caitlin sighed, adjusting her earrings, blinking. “You look eclectic.”

“I asked,” Cisco said, “he didn’t care.”

Caitlin paused. Her brain filtered through a very specific concerto of memories concerning Hartley; Hartley refusing to go out for drinks after work because he wasn’t properly dressed, Hartley texting her seven separate photos of ten different possible outfits the last time they’d had dinner together, Hartley completely losing his marbles when his tailor was unavailable the same weekend they’d had a dinner party with Doctor Wells…

“Well,” Caitlin said brightly, “that’s good! I think it looks nice on you. Especially the sneakers.”

“Thanks,” Cisco said. “Let’s hustle. I put food out for the kitties, they’ll be fine.”

“Good, that’s good,” Cait said. “Flea treatment?”

“Fuck!”

Caitlin nodded, waiting for Cisco to go prepare it and administer it, adjusting her jacket around her shoulders before he bounded back to her. “Are we gonna be late?”

_At this point, you could show up at midnight and I think he’d propose._

“Nah, we’ll be fine,” Caitlin said. “Besides, that was important.”

“Yeah, it was,” Cisco agreed, following her down the steps and outside, sliding into shotgun in her car. “Can I pick the music?”

“Go nuts,” Caitlin said, starting it up. “It’s a long drive.”

“Oh, awesome,” Cisco said. “What, does he live uptown?”

“He,” Caitlin paused. “You know that gated community right outside Central?”

“Fuck me,” Cisco groaned, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “You sure he really wants us to come?”

“Yes, I promise,” Caitlin said, pulling out of the parking spot and onto the road. Cisco sighed, leaning back in the seat, rifling through the shuffle of his phone’s music before his head jerked up.

“ _Cait,”_ he said, “fuck, we didn’t _bring anything—“_

“Oh my god, Cisco,” Caitlin said, “I promise, he’s not going to care—“

“Yes he will, he totally will, have you, like, met him?”

“I promise,” Caitlin said. “It’s fine, Cisco—“

“It’s _not,_ ” Cisco said, and the edge in his voice made Caitlin pause. “Cait, if I give you directions, can we stop somewhere?”

“Okay,” she said. “If you’re absolutely sure—“

Cisco nodded, and Caitlin sighed, turning on her blinker and turning left, as instructed.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Hey we might be a little late I need to grab something

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

What could you possibly need? Is everything all right with the cats?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Yeah I fed them it’s okay I just you’re gonna have a party I gotta bring stuff its fine I know where were going don’t worry abt it ok? ok ?

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

You don’t have to bring anything. It’s fine.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: Hart

Nope  
see you soon

 

Hartley sighed and adjusted the tablecloth for the tenth time. Ranger came over and laid his head in his lap, a quiet whuff of concern. Hartley rubbed his jowls, scratching his chin. “I’m fine, don’t worry. They’ll be here any minute now.”

Still, he couldn’t deny he was going to start pacing again, and soon.

Back in the car, Cisco got out before Caitlin had even parked, ignoring her frustrated shout of concern, bolting into the tiny brickfront store, skidding to a stop in front of the register and having a conversation in Spanish so quick and fluid Caitlin couldn’t keep up, before handing a twenty over and receiving an enormous white, waxy bag full of…

Caitlin hefted it into her arms as Cisco went back out to the car and inhaled it, almost dropping the bag. Whatever it was, it smelled like _heaven._

She put it back in Cisco’s lap and started the car again. “Hey, Cisco? Next time you’re gonna do that, let me know before you almost break your arm clambering out of my car.”

“I was in a hurry,” Cisco said, changing the song to the German _Naruto_ opening. Caitlin groaned. He grinned. “Okay, okay, I’ll change it.”

The rest of the drive was an exercise in obscure Seventies Japanese New Wave and Selena’s entire discography. Caitlin managed to tune it out, mostly, though what she did hear was pretty catchy.

They pulled up to the gates and Caitlin waved at the security guard, who let them in. Cisco raised his eyebrows. She shrugged. “I’ve been here enough times for them to recognize me.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just,” he gestured. Caitlin nodded.

“Well, yeah,” she agreed, turning down a curving, winding road, neatly manicured lawns gleaming with fresh dew from the sprinklers in the setting sunlight. “He’s all the way in the back, come on.”

“Is this his parents’ house, or…” Cisco gestured. Caitlin shrugged.

“It’s a house,” she said. “I mean, his parents bought it, but I actually don’t know how many houses they have? I think this one’s in Hartley’s name, which is good because…”

She trailed off with a frown. Cisco blinked. “Good because?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, guaranteeing it was all Cisco could think about until they pulled up to a long driveway. After that, he was swept away with the house’s broad exterior, the columns along the porch propping the roof up, ivy growing along the bottoms. Cisco watched the lights flicker on inside and the double doors swing open wide, Hartley standing in front of him.

He couldn’t read Hartley’s expression. This was nothing new. But for some reason, his heart was hammering, and his mouth was dry. He reached his free hand up, waving hesitantly, blinking in the last few rays of the sun.

“I brought pastries,” he said, because what else could he say? “Oh. And I took videos of the cats if you want to—“

“Just come in, Cisco,” Hartley said, and Cisco might have bristled, unsure of Hartley’s tone or what it meant, until he took the bag from him with careful fingers. “You already did enough by showing up.”

“Oh. Thank…you?” Cisco said, stepping inside, looking up at the detailing on the doorframe, the wood paneling, the intricate patterns on the runner that carpeted the hallway leading into a room that twinkled with a hanging chandelier.

“Everything okay?” Hartley said, head cocked. Cisco sucked on his cheeks, tilting his head back.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Um. Am I okay here?”

“You’re okay here,” Hartley said, stepping around him and whistling. Cisco followed him into the kitchen, looking out through the enormous bay windows and taking in the last light hanging over the trees.

Olga came trotting into the room, yapping in delight at the sight of Cisco, cantering down the carpet and throwing herself at him, panting. Ranger wagged his tail but fretted at the edge of the carpet, his paws dancing over the edge. Olga turned right back around and headbutted him, nudging him and flanking him down the hall, past the ornamental dresser and coatrack so he could approach Cisco unencumbered. Cisco beamed.

“Wow,” he said, kneeling and reaching out. “Hi buddy. You’re even cuter in person.”

Hartley just hovered, watching his dogs cover Cisco in eager, excited kisses, resisting the urge to get on his knees and do the same, kissing him while the last few rays of sunlight kissed his hair and made him glow for a fleeting moment before Hartley could push him down right on the kitchen floor and—

“Hart?” Cisco said. “What did you make?”

“I,” he blinked, shaking his head and readjusting his shoulders in some vague, desperate attempt to cling to rational thought beyond his desperate, greedy desire, “right. Salmon?”

Cisco flinched. He looked down at Ranger and Olga and didn’t say anything for a solid minute, letting the dogs climb over him. Hartley raised his eyebrows. “Cisco?”

“Can’t eat that,” Cisco said, spoken mostly to the floor. “It. Feels bad? In my mouth. I am so sorry. I have to leave now.”

“ _Wait,”_ Hartley said, more sudden, sharp, than he expected, sharp enough Cisco shuddered like he’d been stabbed like he was afraid like _fuck—_ “Oh my god, don’t go. Cisco? It’s fucking salmon, who cares, I will throw it the fuck out—“

“No, don’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry please shit it’s my fault please don’t be mad oh my god don’t don’t don’t—“

Olga crawled into Cisco’s lap, whining with concern, her tiny tongue licking at his jawline as Cisco pressed his hands over his face, unable to see Hartley grab the oven, heft it open, and snatch the tray with both hands, storming through the kitchen, shunting the windowed door open with his shoulder, and throwing it off the balcony outside.

The kitchen was quiet. The metal tray bounced down the rocky path leading down to the creek beneath the house, the wet noise of salmon tumbling down the hill and back into the river, fully cooked.

Cisco took a deep breath. Hartley held up his hands.

“Okay,” he said, examining the raw, red skin. “So. Takeout?”


	8. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco has a great time at Hartley's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the update gap guys, I know I took awhile but finals and holidays and everything? turned into a mess. Thank you for your patience!! I promise this is worth the wait!

Twenty minutes later, takeout from three different delivery joints was driving towards Hartley’s house, and Caitlin was holding ice packs to his hands with a long-suffering sigh every so often, watching the angry red skin fade.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Caitlin said, patting the skin down with a cold washcloth. “Cisco, pass me that bag of ice. Jesus, Hart.”

“I just,” Hartley inhaled, not looking at Cisco, hadn’t been able to look at Cisco since he’d burned his hands, “didn’t want Cisco to be upset. I mean. He was. Right?”

Cisco jumped. “Um. Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“Stop apologizing,” Hartley said, his voice firm. “I don’t regret it. You were upset. I fixed it.”

“You would’ve needed to go to the hospital to fix _this_ if you hadn’t already turned the oven off, you absolute fucking shitlord,” Caitlin said, examining the blisters. “They’re starting to go down. Don’t pop them, okay?”

“I won’t,” Hartley promised. “Ow. Do we have bandaids?”

“It’s your house,” Caitlin said. Hartley shrugged. Caitlin groaned. “Fine, Jesus, I have some in my purse—“

Cisco got up, pulled out a fan of bandaids from Caitlin’s purse, and cupped Hartley’s hand, twisting it to turn upward, ripping open a bandaid with his teeth and peeling it open, sticking it on and rubbing it over the skin. Hartley didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his body roiling underneath the skin with the force it took to keep still in the middle of a hurricane.

Cisco applied bandaids methodically, talking to himself while he did. Hartley strained to listen.

“Is that the Pokérap?”

“Charizard Machamp Pinsir Koffing, Dugtrio Golbat Staryu Magikarp—“

“He’s not going to talk to you until he’s done, he’s focusing,” Caitlin filled in.

“You like Pokémon that much?”

Cisco mumbled something to himself and smoothed over a few new bandaids, careful, mindful. He made sure Hartley’s left hand was properly plastered before moving on to the right. He only stopped once; when the song ended and his mind flailed, waiting for something to replace it.

“Just start over?”

He hadn’t expected the suggestion to work, but Cisco’s face lit up. He nodded, beginning again. Hartley just watched his mouth move, listening, drinking him in; his face, his hair, his hands, everything about him just…

“Done,” Caitlin said. “Cisco, he’s bandaged, it’s fine.”

“—Kingler Rhyhorn Clefable Wigglytuff,” Cisco finished, sucking in a breath. “Sorry. Wanted to finish the line. I’m okay.”

_You’re incredible._

“Yeah,” Hartley said. “Aren’t there like…eight hundred now?”

Cisco rolled his eyes at him, huge and exaggerated. He _scoffed._ Hartley had never heard Cisco _scoff,_ and his dick felt it as his ears heard it. _Fuck._

“There’s seven hundred and twenty one,” Cisco said, “and there’s set to be a new generation coming soon so that will probably bump the number up into the eight hundreds, yes.”

“And you know all their names,” Hartley said, flexing his bandaged fingers with a smile on his face. Cisco snorted.

“And their types, and their Pokédex data, and their generation of origin, because I’m good at what I do,” he said. This last part was spoken softer, a question guised in declaration. Hartley answered with a nod.

“Absolutely,” he said, and Cisco’s entire body relaxed, some soft, vital part of him opening up and unfurling to bloom, his eyes twinkling as he grinned at Hartley.

“Did you—do you play?”

“Nope,” Hartley said. “Video games were for the lower classes.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Cisco said, shaking his head. “Oh my god. Next time I’ll bring my N64 and all my handhelds and talk you through it, it’ll be great and—“

He stopped himself. Hartley filled in immediately, “Next time? Sounds like a plan.”

Cisco’s smile came back, and it was a sight to behold.

“You’re still an idiot,” Caitlin cut through, giving Hartley a sharp look. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

“Scared _me,”_ Cisco mimicked, adding on. Hartley shrugged.

“Allow me impulsivity from time to time,” he said, adjusting his glasses and cringing. “Ow.”

“Blisters like that don’t last, quit bitching,” Caitlin said, trying not to smile. Hartley made a face at her.

Cisco stayed silent, Olga curled up in his lap, Ranger’s head on his shoulder, occasionally turning to whack Cisco in the face with his broad, blunt muzzle. He closed his eyes, taking in the feel of the place he was in, piecing it together.

It smelled like Hartley; that fizzy, champagne smell mixed with old, smoky wood and something else? Something else. He would have to get closer to find out.

And no, it definitely wasn’t because of anything other than just—he knew what Caitlin smelled like, too, because sometimes other people’s noise and smell and the heaviness of their presence stressed him out. Hartley had all the time before, constant nagging and bickering and exhaustion. But now…

“Cisco? Are you all right?”

Cisco lifted his head.

“Now,” he agreed. “Now I’m okay.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to tell Hartley he smelled good from over here, but there was enough of him screaming not to do it that he could swallow it down. At least, until Hartley leaned over, petting Olga where she lay in Cisco’s lap, his body _very much_ in Cisco’s presence.

He didn’t say anything, but he did tilt his head forward, a gesture he assumed imperceptible, to breathe Hartley in, the echoes of his breath skittering over the skin. To a man not in love it might have gone unnoticed; as it was, Hartley’s entire world stopped, shifted, and re-accommodated its boundaries to revolve explicitly around Cisco’s breath, delicate and soft on his skin.

 _Jesus,_ Hartley thought, faint and desperate, _I’m gay? I’m really fucking gay._

The doorbell rang and Cisco jumped. Ranger barked, wagging his tail and dancing circles around Cisco. Olga stayed in place, well behaved and calm, until Ranger started to canter down the hall towards the door, and Olga bolted after him, trotting on his blind side. Hartley and Cisco stared at each other and Caitlin groaned, getting up and getting the door, grabbing the takeout bags and re-entering the kitchen. Hartley hadn’t moved. Neither had Cisco.

“Come eat,” Caitlin insisted. “Cisco? The steamed dumplings you like are in here.”

“Oh,” Cisco swallowed. “Cool. Great.”

He got up, knees weak, and helped Caitlin unpack. She said something to him Hartley didn’t catch that made him laugh; his heart hurt watching Cisco grin and shake his head, his hair bouncing around his shoulders. Hartley climbed to his feet, pulling silverware out of drawers.

“Jesus,” Cisco said, a bubbling nervous laugh rising in his chest. “We don’t need real silverware for takeout?”

“It’ll be fun,” Hartley said. A thought occurred to him, and he grinned. “Wait.”

He went into the dining room, opened the glass cabinet, and beamed. “Bingo.”

Two minutes later, Cisco, Caitlin, and Hartley were sitting on the dining room table, an antique from Hartley’s great-grandfather’s estate, eating takeout on his grandmother’s china and silver.

“We’re gonna get in trouble,” Cisco said, but he was beaming, shaking his head. “Is this table gonna hold us?”

“I should hope!” Hartley protested. “The amount of skill that went into crafting this is astounding.”

“Mm,” Cisco hummed, breaking a dumpling open, watching the steam curl up out of it. “Don’t you like fancy stuff? This seems…not fancy.”

Hartley glanced at Caitlin, wide-eyed, blinking. She shrugged.

“I,” Hartley said. “Well. Do you. Are you? Is this? Good for you, though?”

“You sound like me,” Cisco said, shaking his head. “I’m okay. I just don’t want you to think—you don’t have to—I can be neat and polite and good at dinner parties and stuff. I’m good at this. I can be good at this.”

He looked down at his outfit. “This is dumb. I should have dressed better.”

Hartley opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of how to say, _I thought about those jeans last night, and I remember you in them, and that shirt, and that time you leaned over your desk and that exact shirt rode up so I could see your stomach and I wanted to kiss you or die. Also—I am so, so glad you like those cufflinks. I called six different people to make sure I had ones that would suit you. Match your eyes._

“You look fine,” Hartley said. “And I. That’s—Togepi, right? I know the other one, the yellow one—“

“ _Pikachu,_ ” Cisco rushed, laughing. “Hart, oh my god, it’s _Pikachu_? The face of Pokemon? Jeez!”

“Also,” Hartley said, rubbing at his cheek with the heel of his palm, glancing aside. “Glad you like those cufflinks. I mean. They were meant to match.”

“Dude, I know, they match my eyes,” Cisco said, lifting his arm up so the little jewel could sparkle. “That’s really lucky, right?”

Hartley recalled, brief, vague, the two hours he’d spent with the last jeweler picking colors out.

“Yes. Lucky,” Hartley said, adjusting his glasses. “You know, I’m going to go into the wine cellar and get something to go with dinner and dessert. Do you have preferences?”

Cisco stared. “Um. No? You can pick.”

“It’s all right,” Hartley rushed, getting up off the table, “do you want to come down with me? I can explain some of the basics to you and—“

“I’d love to go, sure,” Caitlin said, her voice dry. Cisco laughed and Hartley winced.

“Next time,” Hartley promised, “when it’s just the two of us? It is kind of dark and cramped down there.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “Okay.”

Hartley bolted from the room. Cisco looked down at his plate. “Cait? Is he—mad?”

“No,” Caitlin said. “I’ve…never seen him behave like this? To be entirely honest?”

“Oh,” Cisco swallowed. “Is it my fault? Is it bad?”

“Yes, and no,” Caitlin said. “He’s doing this for you, Cisco. But it’s not bad at all. He’s—this is—“

She gestured vaguely. “Cisco, he…you know.”

“I don’t,” Cisco said. “But okay. I mean—“

“Okay, I got some basic dessert wine, I wasn’t sure what we were having, and here, I’m pretty sure this is pork in these dumplings? This’ll go with that,” Hartley said, grabbing glasses as an afterthought, talking mostly to soothe himself, pouring two glasses and knocking them both back before grabbing a third and refilling everything.

“Are you okay?” Caitlin said, trying not to smile.

“Look,” Hartley said. “Cisco? Do you like wine?”

“I mean, I,” Cisco shrugged. “I’ll try it?”

Hartley passed him the glass, wordless. Cisco took it, their fingers touching, and Hartley started to shake, just slightly.

Cisco had his first sip, slow and careful, and at first cringed. The wine was bitter, souring his throat and going down difficult, sharp and nasty. Cisco schooled his expression, swallowed again.

It took a minute. And another sip, honestly. But the wine’s inner nature started to reveal itself, unspooling in his mouth, the undertones and aftertaste leaving a kind of satisfied glow in his mouth. There was something sweet underneath the bitter first impression, and that was all that remained of the wine in his mouth after the first sip.

“It’s really good,” Cisco said. “Wasn’t expecting that, actually.”

“I’m so glad you like it,” Hartley said, grinning. “It’s my favorite.”

Cisco lowered the glass and watched his face. Hartley cocked his head. “Cisco?”

“Nothing,” Cisco said. “It’s nothing.”

They shared half the bottle between the three of them, eating the rest of the takeout until Cisco’s stomach started to hurt. He groaned, putting the last dumpling down, Ranger reaching up on the table to scarf it down. Cisco gave him a stern look. “No.”

Ranger whined, laying down and putting his head on his paws, looking up at Hartley with big, pleading eyes. Hartley laughed. “Don’t look at me, pup.”

Cisco laughed too, his head swimming, his body loose and comfortable, blinking and regarding the wine glass in his hand, head cocked, before shrugging his shoulders and knocking it back. Hartley poured himself another glass and shook his head, grimacing.

“Cisco?” Hartley asked. “What do you want for dessert?”

“You,” Cisco said, laughing, rubbing at his eyes and shaking his head.

Hartley got up, considered his options, and took a breath before he forced himself not to get on the floor and start screaming, because it would give Cisco the wrong impression.

“You can, if you want,” Hartley said, before bolting for the kitchen. “Also, there’s _tartufo_ and tiramisu in the fridge, so we’re going to do that with gelato, when I’m done screaming into the freezer.”

Cisco was still giggling at his own joke. Caitlin stared at him, then Hartley.

“Do you know,” she said, quiet, careful, “what you just said?”

“Absolutely,” Cisco said. “Definitely. Totally. Most assuredly. I totally said something funny and I feel really good right now, Caitlin. What’s up with Hartley?”

“He’s in hell,” Caitlin said.

“Oh.” Cisco got up and went into the kitchen. “Hart? Don’t go to hell. That’s so bad for you!”

Hartley turned around, watching Cisco, wide-eyed. Cisco blinked and grinned, his eyes sparkling.

“Cisco,” he said, “I’m not going to go to hell. But. While all this defrosts or…whatever—come upstairs with me?”

“That’d be good, I have to pee,” Cisco winced. “Jesus, I’ve never had wine? Is it _always_ like this?”

“Hartley, I’ll fucking kill you,” Caitlin called from the dining room. Hartley waved her off and beckoned to Cisco.

“Come,” he said, “I want to show you something.”

“Okay, but seriously,” Cisco protested, following Hartley up the stairs, Olga and Ranger trotting after them.

The hallway was warmly lit, yellowish light casting shadows over the ornate wallpaper. Hartley produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Cisco—“

“Found the bathroom!” Cisco yelled from behind the door. Hartley covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to smile.

A few minutes later, Cisco was standing behind him, arms behind his back, something stuffed in his pocket. Hartley raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything as he stowed away the key and opened the door.

Cisco stepped into the room and gasped. Hartley leaned in the doorway, watching Cisco look around the library, beaming. “Hart, it’s _amazing.”_

“I love coming in here for some quiet,” Hartley said. “I thought you might like to see it. It’s peaceful, and—you know. I know you like having some time to yourself when it’s quiet, and—“

“Hartley,” Cisco said, not looking at him. “Stay, please.”

Cisco could have asked him to unlatch the enormous windows in the library, climb out, and jump off the ledge, and he would have without a moment’s hesitation. Sitting down on the couch was simple by comparison.

“You didn’t say anything about my binder,” Cisco said. “Thank you.”

“You told me not to,” Hartley said. Cisco nodded.

“Um. I mean, thank you. I just—just so you know? I’m deciding to tell you this, it’s fine. I want you to know my chest hurt and I couldn’t breathe so I took it off. I thought I’d been wearing it too long or something.”

Cisco turned to him. Where their eyes met, Hartley felt the air between them sharpen, thicken, a physical presence weighing on his gaze.

“Well,” Cisco said, gesturing at nothing, his hands fluttering, shaking, “I still feel like that. I feel like that right now. Looking at you. And I still can’t breathe. It’s so weird, right? So weird.”

Hartley swallowed, taking a step closer. Cisco didn’t flinch. Another step. His breathing had started to hitch, but he still didn’t move. Hartley could feel his breath on him again.

“No,” he said, “not at all.”

Cisco opened his mouth and Hartley kissed him, catching him mid-breath, his hands reaching up to cup Cisco’s cheeks, holding him close. Cisco didn’t move an inch. Hartley faltered. He pulled away, shame tearing his chest apart.

“Oh,” Cisco said, putting his fingers against his lips, blinking. “So _that’s_ why?”

Hartley couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Still, he managed to choke out, “Why what?”

“My chest is hot,” Cisco said, “and now my heart hurts and my lips are buzzing and I think I get it! I do! I, I—I really want to kiss you!”

He grabbed Hartley by his shirt and yanked him close, standing on tiptoe to kiss him back, eager, grinning, messy and biting, the two of them clinging to each other for dear life, Cisco breaking away to breathe for just a second before Hartley closed the distance between them, devouring his mouth, sliding his tongue inside of Cisco, listening to him whimper into the kiss, the need echoing through his jaw and tightening his throat with desire in response.

Hartley only broke away when he couldn’t breathe. Cisco was grinning, shaking his head in wonder, still leaning into Hartley even after they’d stopped kissing.

“Clever boy,” Hartley crooned, his voice fond, soft, heavy with love, “you figured it out. Took you long enough.”

“M’smarter than you,” Cisco snorted. “I made you work for it, didn’t I?”

Hartley shrugged. “No argument there.”

Cisco opened his mouth to retort back and Hartley kissed him again, soft, nipping, pulling back to nuzzle his cheek. Cisco huffed, his breath sweet with wine. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m being better than you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hartley promised, kissing his throat. “God. I really did bring you in here to look at books, I’m so sorry, but—“

“But?” Cisco said, his voice tiny, shivering, Hartley still kissing his throat, nipping at the skin around his collarbone until it started to purple.

“But now I just—really want to—“ Hartley put his hands on Cisco’s waist, pushing him against the wall, burying his face into Cisco’s neck, kissing and biting. “God damn it. Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

Cisco blinked. “No. No? I’m…soft, and gross. And—“

“Stop,” Hartley groaned, shaking his head, his hand sliding between Cisco’s breasts, putting his palm gently on the swell of his stomach. “Oh my god. Don’t say that, holy shit. You’re so fucking gorgeous. I just—I want to—“

“You like _guys,”_ Cisco said, his chest tight, eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched. Hartley palmed Cisco’s breasts, resting his hands on them and kissing Cisco’s forehead.

“I do,” he agreed. “I really do.”

Cisco shivered. “But—“

“But nothing,” Hartley said, voice firm. “If you don’t want me, please tell me. But don’t doubt for a second that I want you. Okay?”

Cisco didn’t say anything for a few seconds, forcing himself to catch his breath. Hartley just waited, watched, his hands still resting on Cisco’s soft body.

“Okay,” Cisco said, leaning forward to kiss him.

They stayed like that for a while, little kisses, pulling away to suck in tiny breaths before pressing their lips together again, warm and soft. It was like drinking each other in, and Cisco wasn’t sure if he’d ever get enough.

Hartley trailed his fingers down his spine. “ _Mi alma,_ no pressure, but the ice cream downstairs is going to melt, or Caitlin’s going to eat it all out of spite. Do you want to eat it, or—or would you rather make good on your offer? From before, I mean, and, ah—“

Cisco nipped at Hartley’s throat and decided he really, _really_ liked this new side of Hartley, tender and fragile and soft. Whoever had sanded all the rest of his personality down to sharp edges was _definitely_ going to get a piece of Cisco’s mind.

“Later,” he promised. “Ice cream now?”

Hartley nodded, winding his fingers in between Cisco’s. Cisco cherished one more quick squeeze before they slipped downstairs.


	9. Barefoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley's really excited about being in love for five seconds. Then the parental guilt sets in. Cisco makes a rash decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is going to continue past them actually confessing! I love when fics go past that and into the relationship. Also, this is plotty and relevant and stuff, so. Enjoy!

They managed—completely unsuccessfully, but Caitlin didn’t mention it, because she figured it was pointless—to pretend like they hadn’t just kissed upstairs by the time they got back down, and even acted like everything was normal and cool right up until Hartley closed the door, watching Caitlin’s car drive away, and squealed with sheer delight, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and hugging himself tight.

“He loves me,” he mumbled into his folded arms, “he loves me, he loves me, he really really loves me, he loves me, he really really loves me…”

He hummed the little ditty to himself as he cleaned up from dinner, fed the dogs, and stood under the shower, staring up at the spray of water, blinking as it poured all over his face. The joy had settled from a blazing fire to the cold grey ash of reason with nothing on his mind but water and a quiet house.

_What are you going to tell your parents?_

He got out of the shower and slung a towel over his shoulders, staring at his reflection. It was blurry without his glasses and with the steam fogging the mirror, but he didn’t mind. It didn’t matter anyway.

“Oh,” Hartley said to himself, “you know something? I never really thought I’d get this far.”

He climbed into bed and rolled himself up in the covers, hugging his pillow tight. He could pretend his room still smelled of Cisco long after he’d left the house, even though he’d never even set foot in the bedroom, and it helped him sleep, anxiety-ridden and restless as it was.

Later that night, at 3 in the morning, Hartley got another text. The notification rang special; he’d set this one up just for Cisco, a little level up soundbite from Pokemon.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Hey. Can’t sleep. I really want to come over?

 

Hartley counted backwards from ten and forced himself to keep breathing.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

You can though? You 100% can. I will call a driver.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

I cannot stress this enough: don’t do that. They do not get paid enough for that.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Okay then I’ll call one of those twenty four hour taxi services. You should be here. By all rights, this should be your bed. I would—to share it would be—god. I don’t even know, Cisco.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Okay. Tomorrow I’ll come visit and bring the N64 and, I dunno, but I should maybe just…

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

You should move in is what you should do. It’d be perfect.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Que

 

Text To: Mi Alma

Text From: My Hart

No it’s perfect! You’d look lovely here. This house suits you, I think. More than the flat in Paris, but I should take you anyway, it will grow into you, I think, or vice versa. it’s beautiful in spring and winter, we could go from January to April? I’m sure we can work from home or something, it’s not important right now. All the same, I just—want to keep you where I can see you.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Dude I love Pokemon but I’m totally not one? I’m not gonna be caged dude!!

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

God. I’m so sorry. Not what I meant. I just—I’m. Give me a minute. Please?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Totally, but if I fall asleep, it’s okay. I’ll reply soon as I wake up. You do what you gotta.

 

Hartley didn’t respond. Cisco drifted off, still holding his phone, and woke up the next morning with it lit up against his chest, a flood of notifications covering the lock screen.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text From: Mi Alma

Im sorry this is so long I just

I need to say all this and oh, hell, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was such a fucking prick to you for so long wasn’t I? I was? And im so sorry. you were so beautiful It hurt to look at you and I

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

My parents don’t know Cisco. About me. and. They would hate me forever. And I wouldn’t have my family or my funds or my anything and what if I can’t pay for ranger and olga to go to the vet? What if you need help with surgery later and I cant help and I don’t know? I don’t know I am so scared oh jesus. Oh god dammit.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

I was scared. I am so fucking scared. I am so scared I can already picture how it will go and I will die and they will and I can’t. You haven’t met my parents that’s good because you’re safe. You’re safe there. I’m so scared it hurts and I don’t want to

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

What if you get hurt? What if I hurt you? I’m a monster. Fuck. If they say something about you if they do something shitty or stupid like they do with me I can HANDLE it when its just me its my whole life always has been but if its you I might do something I regret they can’t hurt you I already hurt you so bad because of all the bad they put in me it hurt it took so much work to take it out and now youre in danger and youre going to be hurt

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Maybe we shouldn’t date im sorry I don’t know

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Maybe it was stupid to assume we were dating

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Im a fucking monster

 

Cisco put his phone in his pocket, got up, and went into the kitchen. He fed his cats and stroked their fur and put the flea treatment on them before he put a jacket on, went outside, and hailed a cab, barefoot, without his binder, in his pajamas. It was a morning in the city; no one questioned him. The driver barely blinked when he directed them to the gated community, and Cisco poked his head out the window.

“Hi, sorry, this is going to look—wow, I didn’t even brush my teeth? Ugh. Sorry, I’m here for Hartley?” Cisco said. “You can call him if you want. And tell him if he’s not talking to me I’ll call him myself.”

The security guard gave him a long, long look.

“Aren’t you the boy who came in with Ms. Snow yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” she said. “Hi, Cisco. Go on in.”

He would wonder why she knew his name later, probably, as the driver pulled in and he paid, tipping with whatever cash was in his wallet before climbing out of the car and wincing as he made his way up the driveway, the pebbles cutting into his feet.

Cisco banged on the door, hard; he could hear something rattling from inside, probably expensive, probably crystal, probably hard enough to pick up and bash Hartley’s parents’ heads in, there was this scene in _A_ _Clockwork Orange_ where that happened and he wasn’t Malcom Gladwell but he could pull it off probably he’d been going to the gym to get a little more buff, a little more like a guy, and it hadn’t stuck? Dumb. If he could put on a dress still without shaking the texture overwhelming him he could fool Hartley’s parents forever, maybe. The parent trap. Really, he hoped Lindsay Lohan was doing okay. She had just been doing her best and addiction was tough and—

The door swung open. Cisco blinked. Hartley stared, not blinking, not wanting to miss a second of Cisco standing barefoot and half-asleep in his doorway, the dawn making him glow. Olga and Ranger jockeyed for space around Hartley, trying to get to Cisco. Hartley swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” Cisco said, gesturing wildly. “I just—I thought—you needed me. I needed to be here right now. I saw your texts as soon as I got up and I said oh Jesus this is a big deal and I gotta go to him and by the way? We can totally be dating if you want. My parents don’t like me either.”

Hartley continued to stare for a few seconds, looking Cisco up and down, taking a deep breath before shaking his head.

“You’re not wearing shoes.”

“You threw a burning hot tray out the window because I said I didn’t like salmon.”

Hartley conceded with a nod and beckoned him inside. His hand hesitated over Cisco’s, both fearful and wondering; either this was a dream or his touch would result in rejection, he knew this, and he was so sure of it right up until Cisco proved him wrong and snatched his hand up, clutching it with his fingers, rubbing his rough callused pads over Hartley’s own, feeling his pulse beat in his thumb.

“The cats got fed,” Cisco promised. “They’re okay.”

“You should’ve brought them,” Hartley said, absent, voice vague like VHS static, puttering around his own kitchen like a tourist. He started the espresso machine, with great effort. “Should get them used to the dogs.”

“This was clearly not a well planned out decision, so that definitely didn’t occur to me,” Cisco said. Hartley snorted.

“I doubt there was any planning at all,” he said. Not mocking. Just—something. Cisco was learning, and he was smart, but he wasn’t magic. He’d figure out that tone someday.

“Well, you were worried, and you needed me, and,” Cisco shrugged. “I just.”

Hartley nodded, checking the oven. Cisco groaned and he laughed. “No, _Cisquito._ Just reheated some of the bread you brought over yesterday for breakfast. I can make whatever you’d like. I mean, I can’t guarantee it’ll be great, but when I don’t have things pre-catered and delivered I do okay, I think, it’s been awhile—“

“Move, I’ll do it,” Cisco said, nudging Hartley away from the oven with his hip, kneeling and checking leftovers. “Okay, dude, do you have Nutella? I can make a chocolate hazelnut ganache really quick.”

“Marry me,” Hartley said, and Cisco didn’t say no. He just checked the cabinets and nodded, huge plastic jar of hazelnut spread in his hand.

“Let’s do this.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting on the kitchen island, eating breakfast and drinking espresso out of the tiniest, most fragile cups Cisco had ever seen. Ceramic shouldn’t be so liable to snapping in two, but it was oddly appropriate for Hartley’s current mental state, so he didn’t remark on it.

“You haven’t come out to your parents.”

“My parents voted for Reagan, twice.”

“Yeah, okay,” Cisco sighed. “And they haven’t changed at all?”

“Uh, absolutely not,” Hartley clicked his tongue against his teeth—a gesture so familiar it took Cisco to second to realize he’d copped it from him. “They donated to Prop 8, way back when. We live across the fucking country. People getting married in California did not affect them in the slightest fuck fuck _fuck—“_

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his temples, pushing his glasses up. “Oh god. If they disown me what am I going to do if I need new glasses?”

Cisco didn’t push. Hartley shook his head.

“It hurt to live there,” he said, his voice tiny, breaking, soft. “It hurt so much and no one believed me. I never wanted to live like that. I was never safe. I had—I had bodyguards when I was young because my parents were so worried their only son would get held for ransom. Jesus fucking Christ. I couldn’t have been more protected and I still wasn’t safe. I was like—like—like that stuff in their safe deposit box, the one under the other one they think I don’t know about.”

“They didn’t love you.”

“No, they loved me,” Hartley said, shaking his head, “they loved me a lot. Scion. Heir apparent. Pretty and smart and for some reason people liked me but that wasn’t safe so they had to stop and I had to make them stop—you understand? Please?”

He stopped speaking until Cisco nodded, hurrying on. “They thought I was just cultivating my friends better. I was so angry all the time inside and it hurt a lot and not in the way like yesterday where I couldn’t breathe looking at you. I could hurt that way forever. Just. Oh. Bad. Bad. Hell.”

Hartley took a deep breath. “They love me. They just don’t know me, Cisco, and if they do, they’ll stop.”

“That’s not how love works.”

Hartley’s smile had no light in it. “Sure it does.”

“No,” Cisco insisted. “I liked you better the more I got to know you. Right?”

He didn’t get a response for awhile. When he lifted his coffee to his lips, it had gone cold.

“Right,” Hartley finally said.

“And if you have to come move in with me instead,” Cisco said, approaching the subject like he would a wounded animal, “you know I would still like you, right?”

Another long pause between responses. Cisco took a bite of bread.

“Right.”

“Okay. Have you forgotten that you work at a super prestigious lab, for one? Like we’re not making Rockefeller money or whatever the fuck your parents are up to, but we can afford to get you a new pair of glasses and to take the dogs to the vet.”

Hartley didn’t say anything again, playing with his glasses, blinking hard.

“But,” he finally ventured, “I wanted to take you to Paris—“

He got up off the counter and went out into the hall. Cisco let him pace and mutter and shake himself off until he felt ready to return. He needed that time anyway, as he mulled his next proposal in his head, letting it fill his stomach, a lead balloon, until it crashed hard in his gut.

“I could,” Cisco swallowed, watching Hartley’s face as he returned. “We could. Tell them. I’m. You know. And I haven’t. They’d believe me. No—no hormones or surgery or—“

“I would sooner spit in the face of _god,”_ Hartley insisted, slamming his hand down on the table, plates clattering. Cisco shivered, a full-body shudder that made his toes curl.

“Oh.”

“You are not going to suffer because of me,” Hartley said. “What would that mean in the long run, Cisco? Going by a bad name forever and letting people hurt you every time they spoke? Like, my parents don’t talk that much, talking is for people who don’t have anything better to do or whatever the fuck, but that’s still—“

“I have to help,” Cisco insisted. “Hart? I didn’t know. If I’d known I would have—I—I mean, I’d figure…something out?”

“No, you don’t have to help,” Hartley said, not looking at him. Cisco glanced down at his feet.

“Oh.”

“No, it—“ Hartley groaned, desperate, grabbing at his hair. “Fuck. Okay. You know how you can help? Take the dogs for a walk. Please. I have to make some phonecalls. And I. You know.”

Cisco nodded, getting up and grabbing the leashes off the coat rack, clipping them to Olga and Ranger’s collars.

“ _Mi alma?”_

Cisco made a curious noise in response.

“I forgot. Put a pair of shoes on.”

Cisco grinned to himself, slid on a pair of Hartley’s carpet slippers, and went outside with the dogs.


	10. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley and Cisco have their first day dating. Hartley makes some phonecalls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, guys, my country is on fire, and I went back to school and everything, so thank you for your patience. :) Enjoy!

Hartley Rathaway sat in his study surrounded by six different account books, two rolodexes of phone numbers, and pens in three different colors of ink, wearing the jacket Cisco had thrown over his pajamas before coming to visit.

“A jacket but no shoes,” he murmured. “God, do I love you.”

He stopped before he started making phone calls, hovering over his lock screen of Cisco and Ringo for just a few seconds. He smiled, soft, fond, before swiping right.

“I’m doing this for you,” he promised. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The first two calls were to his parent’s lawyers. The next two were to his father’s primary bank, and then his accountant, and then the set of accounts in their Swiss bank his parents thought he didn’t know about needed to be dealt with, but he had to make arrangements to keep those dealings discreet, first.

He scratched a few idle figures on a piece of scrap while on hold, before turning around in his chair to see Cisco playing on the lawn with the dogs, throwing a tennis ball for Olga to sprint after, Ranger gnawing, content, at a soccer ball watching Olga play fetch out of his good eye. Cisco was laughing, grinning, kneeling down to pet both dogs.

Hartley let his gaze linger on the scene for awhile longer, taking it in, silent and committed to memorizing every inch of it. The phone clicked in his ear, taking him off hold, and he started before shaking his head and re-committing all his attention to the phone, turning away.

Hartley didn’t get off the phone until about two in the afternoon. When he went downstairs and into the kitchen, a spread of cold cuts and cheese and sliced rolls was waiting for him, Cisco standing at the kitchen island, grinning sheepishly.

“I, uh—the dogs got tired, I figured I should bring them in, and I figured it was late, so you would—we should—“ Cisco trailed off, glancing to the side. Hartley crossed the kitchen and cupped Cisco’s cheeks, pressing his forehead against Cisco’s.

“I didn’t bring you here to be my maid,” Hartley said. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, but—I thought I mean you’re letting me stay the least I could do is—“

Hartley kissed Cisco; slow, sweet, gentle, stroking his cheeks, down over his shoulders, to his sides and finally holding him by the hips, pulling him close. Cisco shivered when he broke the kiss.

“You’re not here under any obligation,” Hartley promised. “And to be entirely honest, I should be the one cooking for _you_. You’re the one that came here and kept me sane.”

Cisco hugged him tight. “Anytime, dude.”

Hartley laughed, laying his head on Cisco’s shoulder for a minute, just breathing him in, the curtains fluttering over the window, making the light patterns change and flicker on the floor.

“You don’t have to tell your parents, you know,” Cisco said. “I only came out because my brother forced me to. He’d found pictures of me online and stuff, and. You know. I wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s up to you, Hart.”

“No,” Hartley said, “because it’s not, and it never has been, and if I want to take you to Paris I have to do it on my own terms with my own two hands and I’m going to.”

He kissed Cisco’s forehead. “ _Mi alma._ Stay with me, please.”

“Okay, but,” Cisco said, “cats?”

“Cats,” Hartley sighed in agreement. “Right. Okay. I wouldn’t mind you bringing them here, you know.”

“Not that,” Cisco said. “I mean, my stuff…”

Hartley hummed quietly, drumming his fingers on Cisco’s sides. “Okay. Here’s my plan. I can drive you home, you can get your stuff, bring the cats back here. I mean—do you—“

“I’d like to stay if you need me,” Cisco said. Hartley shivered, nuzzling Cisco.

“If you stay, I might not ever want you to leave,” he said, his voice quiet against Cisco’s throat, so quiet he felt it more than heard it. “Is that okay?”

Cisco nodded. Hartley sighed, grinning. “Wow. Okay. That’s—that’s—“

Cisco tilted his head up to peck Hartley on the lips, delicate and soft. He pulled away and took a breath just before Hartley kissed him back, hard, gripping his hips and sucking on his lower lip, groaning, desperate, until they broke apart, panting.

“Sorry. I got excited,” Hartley laughed. Cisco huffed, letting Hartley play with his hair.

“I mean, I can totally stay the night,” he said, “but I can’t move in, you know?”

Hartley’s shoulders slumped. Cisco made a face. “Dude, I have a lease.”

“I can buy out the—“

“Don’t,” Cisco said. “I’m not asking you to buy stuff. Please don’t feel like you have to, I’m worried already.”

“But then you won’t—“

“I will,” Cisco promised, reaching up and squeezing his hands. “I will, I will, I will. Also: no offense, but we should probably wait a little bit before moving in together.”

“A month at most.”

“Do you ever relax?”

“What?”

Cisco sighed, grinning and shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. Hart? What’s your plan?”

“I am going to need two months for all of what I set in motion to be processed and properly dealt with,” Hartley said. “And when it is, then my parents will never be able to hurt me. Us. Ever again. But—I, I just—I don’t want to be alone, I know you have the lease, I just—“

Cisco squeezed his hands. “Hey. If you still want me in two months, then you know what? We’ll worry about the lease later. I can like, sublet. Caitlin and Ronnie were thinking of moving anyway.”

“God,” Hartley laughed. “Okay. Okay. I can’t imagine not wanting this forever, but sure. Sounds—sounds good.”

He took a second to breathe deeply, running his hands through his hair. Cisco cocked his head. “Dude? You okay?”

Hartley shook his head, and he wrapped his arms tighter around Cisco. “Please tell Caitlin to feed the cats. You can wear my clothes. I don’t want to go anywhere but here, I think. I need—I need to stay somewhere. I have to be anchored. I feel so fucked up—“

“Hey,” Cisco said, his voice soft. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re afraid, right?”

It took Hartley a few minutes before he nodded. Cisco laid his head on his shoulder. “Want to talk?”

“Can’t,” Hartley said. Cisco snorted.

“I’ve been there,” he said. “I get so worked up I go nonverbal sometimes. It’s the pits.”

Hartley nodded. Cisco reached up and stroked his hair, waiting it out with him.

“It’s uncalled for,” Hartley finally said.

“Dude, do not do this rich people shit with me, I’ve seen all of _Ouran High School Host Club,”_ Cisco said. Hartley blinked.

“Pardon?”

“You know what?” Cisco said. “Let’s just go hang out on the bed and watch Netflix. I never actually got to show you those videos I took of Ringo, so let’s do that too. And we can work all the rest of this out later, right?”

“Right,” Hartley agreed. “Still—food first.”

“Okay,” Cisco nodded. “Food first.”

They got halfway through making sandwiches before Hartley said, “Fuck it. Let’s just eat in bed. Any arguments against that?”

Cisco didn’t have any.

…

By the time Cisco looked back up from his spot on the bed, snuggled against Hartley’s shoulder, he realized it was starting to get dark.

“How long have we been watching this?” he asked, trying to remember the name of whatever they were watching, unsuccessfully. Hartley shrugged.

“Dunno, it’s just background noise at this point,” he said. “Caitlin feed the cats?”

“Yeah, she texted me,” Cisco said, shifting in bed. “Guess I’m having a sleepover, huh?”

“I’ve never had one,” Hartley said, blinking. “Well. I’ve never done a lot of things, actually.”

“Oh, same,” Cisco said. “Though…probably not the same things you haven’t done.”

“That so?” Hartley said, the hint of a grin on his face. “My my, _mi alma._ Like what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Cisco shrugged, face heating up. “Like…y’know.”

“No,” Hartley said, “I don’t.”

“Ha! You just admitted you don’t know something,” Cisco grinned. “Check and mate, dude.”

Hartley leaned in and pecked his forehead. “Mm. Yes, all right. I admitted humility, so now you ought to sate my curiosity. I’m _learning.”_

“Have I told you you’re a total Slytherin? ‘Cause you are.”

“Mm, fair, but I think you’re a pretty firm Hufflepuff, and Slytherpuff pairings always have great potential,” Hartley said. Cisco’s eyes blew up wide.

“Dude,” he said. “Telling me you’re enjoying my reference jokes is super hot and all, but you’re not getting anything out of me.”

“I don’t want to get anything out of you,” Hartley said, “I want to get something _in_ you.”

Cisco stared. Blinked. Got up. Left the bed. Opened the door to the bathroom, climbed into the bathtub, and stared at the wall.

Hartley’s chest seized up in panic. “ _Mi alma?_ I’m sorry, I was teasing, it’s disgusting, I won’t—it’s—I understand—“

Cisco started laughing. Hartley paused, cocked his head, and took a breath before entering the bathroom, climbing into the bathtub with him. “Cisco?”

“Dude, that was hysterical,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know you had it in you? I was just teasing! I—did I upset you? Oh god. I did. I’m sorry, I—“

“Stop,” Hartley said. “It’s not your fault I…well. I’m not used to this. I spent my whole life thinking how I felt was disgusting and wrong, but—it can’t be. Can it? Because it’s how I feel about you, and you’re wonderful, and…”

He shook his head and sighed, adjusting his glasses. Cisco climbed into his lap, laying his head on his shoulder. They laid out in the bathtub for awhile, the television playing in the background.

“It’s so weird to me you want to have sex with me?” Cisco finally ventured. “Nobody wanted to have sex with me. I mean. It’s not because you’re a perv or whatever. It’s just—“

He waved his hands around vaguely and almost hit Hartley in the face. “Sorry! I just—you do? Want me?”

Hartley slid his hands down Cisco’s thighs, stroking, his palms heavy on his pajama pants, kissing his neck. “God, absolutely.”

“I have a pussy,” Cisco said, his voice quiet, weak, shaking. “And breasts. And my hair hasn’t grown in much and my voice hasn’t gone down because I haven’t started anything yet and—“

“And I still want to have sex with you,” Hartley promised. “Your body doesn’t disgust me. You don’t disgust me. Your dumb tee shirts used to annoy me, but mostly because I wanted to rip them off of you and get your jeans down so I could have sex with you.”

Cisco snorted, a little laugh slipping out past his trembling lips. “Wow. Okay. That’s good. I mean. My body disgusts me sometimes but it’s just doing its best and I have to help it along, that’s what the therapist said and I—it means a lot you don’t think it’s—I—“

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Wow. Okay. Today’s been weird.”

“This was our first day dating,” Hartley said, looking up at the ceiling, the wonder filling him like the sun rising over the earth; slow at first, and then all consuming. “And you played with the dogs and made lunch and then we just watched television. And most of it was terrible.”

“ _Paranormal Home Investigators_ was a great time, you hush.”

“No, it’s—“ Hartley grinned. “I can’t imagine anything better. I never thought—“

“Never thought what?”

“Oh, you know,” Hartley shrugged. “I had a fiancée lined up for me. I thought we’d just have quiet resentful nights reading books or doing paperwork or attending wine tastings and the orchestra or the theatre or whatever else my parents asked us to attend. And no television, and no dogs.”

“Well,” Cisco said, “all of that sounds awful, so I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Hartley said, wrapping his arms around Cisco’s waist.

…

It took them an hour, but eventually, they got out of the tub and ordered dinner, Cisco settling in and turning on a new show, laying out in bed.

“Hart?” Cisco asked. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“This thing you’re doing with your parents,” Cisco said. “Whatever it is, you can come to me. I’ll help however I can, I promise. Don’t shut me out, okay? No matter how long this takes.”

“I tried,” Hartley said. “Before. I tried to. And when that didn’t work I tried to hate you, and then I thought—maybe I could try something else, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I _still_ fucked that up and somehow you fell in love with me I think, I mean if I’m wrong tell me now but—“

“I love telling you you’re wrong, but you’re not,” Cisco sighed. “And what did you learn from all of that exhausting stuff, Hart?”

“Pushing you away isn’t gonna work,” he said. “Ever. You just—found a way in. Do you know how extraordinary that is? How extraordinary _you_ are?”

“Well,” Cisco grinned, “I’m finding out, I think.”

Hartley kissed him, kissed him again, kissed him some more until the doorbell rang twice with the takeout and they could eat and Cisco could forget that Hartley didn’t actually explain what he was doing with his parents, because that was absolutely for the best. It just had to be. Hartley wouldn’t have it any other way.


	11. Phonecall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley calls his father and comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing explicitly abusive in here, but if you have bad parents this might be uncomfortable for you, so please keep that in mind!  
> With one more chapter left, I was GOING to wait but I'm too excited--a sequel to this is in the works! It'll focus more on the accelerator+the aftermath, so it'll be a little less fluffy, but more plotty and complex, I hope.

A month, three weeks, and six days passed. Cisco had spent that time over Hartley’s house every weekend, bringing the cats to visit once or twice to get them used to the dogs, and an occasional overnight. He’d started T a month ago and was having the time of his life, telling Hartley about his therapy sessions over dinner, which was either eaten in bed or on the table, most days. Things were okay. Things were better than okay, really.

“Cisco?”

Cisco rolled over and blinked. “Hart? It’s two am.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t sleep,” he said. “I would text you, but…you’re right here.”

Cisco grinned. “Okay, I am, but I’m also like, super tired, so…”

“Tomorrow the processing should be complete,” Hartley said. “Paperwork and legal proceedings should be finished, so you and I will have nothing to worry about, ever again.”

“Did you like drain your parent’s bank accounts, or…” Cisco yawned. Hartley shrugged.

“Little from column a, little from column b.”

“I only suggested one thing.”

“Metaphorically, _mi alma,”_ Hartley said, reaching out to stroke his hair. “What matters is they’re not going to be able to hurt you, and I can still take you to Paris.”

He kissed Cisco’s forehead. “We’ll take some work with us and ship designs back overseas. It’ll be fine. It’ll be perfect, I mean.”

Cisco closed his eyes. “That’s nice. Can we sleep now?”

Hartley snuggled closer. “Of course. When I make the call to my parents, will you be waiting for me?”

Cisco yawned, mumbling, “Duh,” quiet and soft, blinking and nuzzling into Hartley’s throat before going back to sleep. Hartley stayed awake long enough to watch him awhile longer, eventually falling asleep beside him.

…

The next morning, well after the sun had risen, with Cisco making coffee and homefries in the kitchen, tapping his foot and counting off a beat, was when Hartley finally descended the steps from the bedroom, leashes in hand.

“Take the dogs out, please?” Hartley said, and Cisco’s stomach plummeted.

“You sure you don’t want me to just…be there?” Cisco suggested. “I don’t want you to go through this alone, Hart.”

Hartley leaned in and kissed his forehead. “I’m not going to be. But I don’t want you to see me like this. Please.”

Cisco nodded, taking the leashes from him and whistling for Ranger and Olga. He couldn’t actually whistle, so it was mostly a rush of air, but the dogs came trotting in all the same, nosing at Hartley and licking his hand or ankle before seeing Cisco with their leashes and going berserk with delight. Cisco laughed, clipping the leashes on and rubbing behind their ears. “Let’s hustle, babies. C’mon.”

“Cisco?” Hartley said as he got up and went for the door, wearing Hartley’s cardigan to protect against the new November cold, illuminated in the cold silver sunlight of fall. Cisco cocked his head, his hair falling in his face.

“What’s up?” he asked, giving Hartley a hesitant grin. Hartley took a deep, trembling breath, and swallowed, hard.

“I love you.”

Cisco stared at Hartley, wide-eyed. His free hand wrapped around his waist as he blinked at him.

“Oh,” Cisco said. “I’m happy to hear that.”

He stared down at the carpet, something complex and heavy with conflict crossing his face, some emotion he was unsure of how to perform. “I should—“

Olga and Ranger left the house and Cisco followed. Hartley’s gut churned and he glanced down at his feet. It would have to do. He’d shocked him, after all, it was hardly fair to expect—

No. He didn’t expect. But he could really, really hope that as soon as he came back inside after calming down, Cisco would—

“I love you,” Hartley said, his voice soft, warm, gentle. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He smirked, breathless with stress and fear. “Good to get some practice in, I think.”

He took some breakfast with him, climbed the steps and went back to his bedroom, reaching into bed, grabbing Cisco’s pajama shirt. It was a shirt with Moomintroll on it, pudgy and soft, a cat in his lap. Hartley stripped out of his own shirt and slid Cisco’s on before slinging a sweater over it, hugging himself tight.

Then he went to his study. And he called his parents.

They didn’t pick up on the first call. Expected. Hartley leaned back, examined the paperwork he had spread out in front of him for comfort. He had a sip of the coffee Cisco had made him and sighed in bliss, toes curled slightly. It was silly to say it smelled of him, but perhaps he’d just conjured the thought instead. Cisco would be safe now. Tucked away in Paris in a few month’s time, just after Christmas with the snow falling—it sounded like heaven, absolutely.

But he had to work to get them there.

The phone rang, the ancient, archaic old thing Hartley only used for family calls rattling on its brass receiver. Hartley waited two rings before picking it up.

“Hartley.”

“Father.”

So. That was how was going to go. It might have been gentler with his mother, but when it broke, it would have hurt more. Hell.

“What are you calling for?”

“I called,” Hartley said, forcing back a shaky breath. “To discuss certain financial matters. And others.”

“Then let’s discuss it, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “Your mother wants to go to Vienna for the weekend. One of her friends is holding his art show.”

“Lovely,” Hartley said. For a beat, he considered; slam the phone down, never speak of this again, leave Cisco—

No. God, no. Maybe if it had just been him, but no. He could suffer in silence forever, but not Cisco. Never again.

“Father,” Hartley said, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Let me explain some things first. One; the flat in Paris is under my name now, as is the house on the outskirts of Central.”

“Makes perfect sense,” his father agreed, “you work there now. Well done taking the initiative, Hartley.”

His heart hurt. He rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, his fingers still warm from holding the coffee. “The safe deposit box—“

“The one in Switzerland?”

“The one in Prague,” Hartley said.

Silence. He had him. Damn it.

“I transferred liquid assets to my private account,” Hartley explained, “and removed the possessions from the safe deposit box in Prague.”

Silence.

“Hartley,” his father said, “this is not a joke.”

“No, it’s not,” Hartley said. “I put them someplace safe. All those documents, all the jewelry, all the deeds. So.”

“Is there a reason you took it onto yourself to remove all of those documents from Prague?” his father said.

“Well, I’d totally love not getting disinherited, so,” Hartley said. “Hi, dad. I’m gay.”

Another long silence.

“And I have a beautiful boyfriend, who is _far_ too good and pure to be treated poorly by _you,_ and when we have a child, I’m sure you’d like to know. Another Rathaway.”

There was a silence. No—not completely, Hartley could hear his father’s breathing picking up on the other end of the line, hot and heavy and _angry—_

“Two men,” his father said, with dull severity, “cannot breed. That child will not be a Rathaway worth a damn—“

“Hey, presto, let’s talk about trans people,” Hartley said, the joke iced over with a sharp, crisp tone. “I’m offering you a deal. Maybe, if I am incredibly lucky and he’s willing, I—we—will be graced with a child. A Rathaway heir. You know I’m your only shot. All you have to do is be nice to your gay son, and his trans boyfriend, and you can have a grandchild.”

The silence on the phone was so heavy it smothered him, threatening to snap his ribs. His body stayed strong, his heart warm, pushing outward, sending love and blood through his veins, under his terrified skin.

“If you make a scene about this,” Hartley said, “if you disown me, if you do _anything_ to Cisco, and I do mean _anything_ , then that safe deposit box will be sold off or made public. And there are some things in those documents you don’t want to go public.”

A pause. His breathing had slowed down, but he could hear him drumming his fingers on the great teak desk in his study. Hartley could conjure his father’s rage perfectly from memory—the expression on his face, the set to his jaw and eyebrows, and the way his fingers drummed until he could grab something and throw it, hard.

 _You’re miles and miles away from him, Hartley. He wasn’t_ that _good at shotput at the academy, you know._

Hartley took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to relax. “Well?”

“You are _threatening_ me, Hartley James Rathaway? Your own _father?_ ”

“No,” Hartley said. “I’m suggesting we keep this in the family, that’s all. And providing some leverage. Perhaps we can try a group therapy session. But at the very least, now you can’t ignore me. And you can’t shut me out.”

His fingers tightened over the phone, white-knuckled and cold. “Do you hear me? I will not be shut out. This is my family too. My life. And I am trying to meet you halfway. Consider that mercy. Consider the fact that I am offering you the option of an heir at all. And perhaps use a little of that initiative and resolve you always spoke of and agree to treat your child like a god damn human being.”

More silence. Hartley rolled his eyes. “And if you just hang up, I’ll take that as a go-ahead to make the contents public.”

“I need to speak with your mother about this.”

“Sure. Okay. But my offer still stands, and if I haven’t heard from you in three days, I will take it as a refusal.”

“Very well, then. This will be dealt with. There will be no need to make such a fuss about this after your little stunt has been handled.”

Hartley shrugged. It stung, but it was also expected. “Sure. Okay. I will speak to you shortly, then.”

“Of course.”

They hung up. Hartley stared at the phone. It rattled in the receiver; his hand was still shaking, even as he lifted it away to cup his cheek.

He picked up his phone—his proper phone, the one with Cisco’s number saved on it—and texted him.

 

From: My Hart

To: Mi Alma

Come upstairs, please.

 

He didn’t get a text back, but he heard Cisco coming up the stairs seconds later, flinging the door open.

“Okay I thought a lot about what you said while I was out with the dogs, and I realized oh my god, idiot, you were so shocked you didn’t say anything, so I’ve been trying to come up with some cool suave awesome way to tell you this entire time but I kinda realized halfway through that’s dumb, and I should just say what I feel, so I _do_ love you, Hartley! I really do!”

Hartley stared. Cisco closed the door behind him. “Um. I mean.”

“Come here,” Hartley said, his voice shaking. “Oh, come here, let me hold you. Please.”

Cisco did as he was told, approaching Hartley’s chair before Hartley pulled him into his lap, hugging him tight. Cisco laid his head on Hartley’s shoulder.

“I never questioned you touching me, not once,” he murmured. “And I mean, Caitlin had to be my friend for two months before she could hug me.”

“I’m honored,” Hartley said, his voice shaking. “Oh my god. I think I did it? I think we’re going to be okay.”

Cisco made a curious noise, nuzzling closer. Hartley snorted. “I mean. I’ll probably have to attend family therapy. And they’ll probably never be _kind_ to you. But if they’re anything less than polite and civil and accommodating, I will destroy them without a moment’s hesitation. And they will never put a hand on their grandchild.”

Cisco lifted his head from Hartley’s shoulder. “Their _what_?”

“We’ll discuss that later,” Hartley said, his face pink. “Not quite the point.”

“Okay,” Cisco said. “But for the record? I really do like kids.”

Hartley buried his face into Cisco’s hair and grinned, hugging him closer. They stayed like that for a little while, just curled up in the study.

“So what’s the plan?” Cisco asked. “I mean, now that you’re okay? They’re not going to disown you?”

“If they do, I have the means to handle it,” Hartley said. Cisco raised his eyebrows. Hartley shrugged. “You know how they got Al Capone for tax evasion?”

“Right,” Cisco laughed. “Okay. So, now that you’ve Al Caponed your parents…”

“Well,” Hartley said, swallowing, “the offer still stands. For you to move in with me, I mean. The house is in my name. They can’t take it from me, no matter what.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “Um. Cait and Ronnie would totally take the apartment, but you gotta give them like a week to pack. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” Hartley said, even though it wasn’t, and he wanted Cisco with him right now, this second, forever. “Can you stay the rest of today?”

“Dude, I left food out for the cats, I can go into work with you tomorrow if you want,” Cisco said. Hartley nodded, hugging him tight.

“Perfect,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Cool,” Cisco said. “I’d like that too. And then maybe…I can bring the cats over tomorrow night? So they can settle in. That’ll help them, a lot.”

“Won’t you miss them?”

“I mean, yes, but,” Cisco said, “don’t you want me to have another reason to come over?”

Hartley considered this, stroking Cisco’s hair. “Mm. Fair enough.”

“Also, you get to hang out with Ringo.”

“I already agreed, but that _is_ a wonderful thought,” Hartley sighed. “For now though, I’d like to sit in the study and read. And maybe kiss you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cisco said, his chest hot and light with excitement.

…

They did read, a little, because Cisco had never read Dostoyevsky and Hartley had an ancient copy he wanted to show him, but mostly the old translation of _The Brothers Karamazov_ sat on the table and Hartley kissed Cisco, covering his neck and shoulders and face in kisses until Cisco could hardly breathe with need and want.

“We’re going to be all right,” Hartley promised him with every kiss, “safe and sound, my Cisco, I’ll take you to Paris, I’ll show you my favorite parks, we can go do whatever you’d like—“

“I think Mr. Mime is the European _Pokemon Go_ exclusive,” Cisco mused, turning his head to let Hartley kiss his neck, “that’d be nice.”

“What?”

“It’s, I—nothing,” Cisco said, face hot. “I mean, I’d love that. Love you.”

“Love you,” Hartley sighed, sliding down to kneel in front of Cisco, kissing his chest, putting his hands lightly on Cisco’s binder. “Tell me again. Please.”

“Love you,” Cisco repeated, shivering when Hartley kissed his belly, lightly dragged his tongue up the skin. “Love you? Love you—Hart, please, it’s too much—“

“Sorry,” Hartley said, pulling away immediately. “Was it—“

“No, I’m fine, you didn’t bother me, I just,” Cisco squirmed on the couch, “if you keep kissing me, I’m not gonna want you to stop, but also, we gotta feed the dogs and make dinner.”

“Domestic,” Hartley said, a breathy little laugh. “Really?”

“Really,” Cisco grinned. “Maybe we could wait until we’re in a bed?”

Hartley’s vision swam. Cisco cocked his head. “Hart…?”

“Absolutely,” Hartley said, his voice dry. “ _Mi alma._ Oh, god, once you’re in my bed you’re not going to leave. Fuck—“

He kissed Cisco once, hard, warm and promising, making Cisco shiver. “My love. My love, my love.”

“My love,” Cisco said, his voice soft, mimicking Hartley. “My love.”

They stayed like that until Olga started scratching at the door, yapping to go out. Hartley laughed, getting up to let her go, Cisco trailing after him, holding onto his hand, fingers wound tight like a promise.


	12. Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco and Hartley's happy ending is a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Sorry about the delay--school and life and crazy stuff. This is the end of this fic, but as promised: sequel incoming! I'll be updating that weekly as well.   
> This is such a good, soft, gentle ending. I had so much fun writing this fic and it made me smile and explore parts of myself and my gender and my mental stuff, so it was totally worth writing. I really hope it was worth reading, and I am so grateful for all the wonderful comments I got on this fic? It completely changed my perspective and made me energized to write and post in a way I haven't felt in ages--I wouldn't be making a sequel if you hadn't been so kind and supportive. I appreciate it so, so much. Thank you for everything!!

Six days later, Cisco was laying awake in bed, catless, Hartley-less, and frankly, without much furniture at all, because most of it had already been moved. He was back to a mattress on the floor and a box of tee shirts, but there were worse places to be, he supposed. Now, at least, that wasn’t the end of things, but just the beginning.

Still. He did need something to do. So he pulled out his phone.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Can’t sleep.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Hey, neither can I. No surprise. Father called back, after some further deliberation. We all have to go to counseling. Ugh.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Ugh. I’ll be here for you though, okay? You won’t deal with this all by yourself.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

No, I won’t. Thank you for reminding me. That means a lot, Cisco.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Welcome. :3

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Is the cat face necessary

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Haha duh?? Also speaking of, how are the kitties?

 

Hartley looked at the other side of his bed, which was currently occupied by Meowth, Ringo, Nyota, and Olga, with Ranger sleeping on top of his feet. He snapped a picture and smiled, sending it to Cisco.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Oh. There’s a good answer. Can’t wait til that’s me there!!

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Neither can I. you’ll be here tomorrow?

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Yep! I mean I don’t really need this mattress, so I’m just bringing what’s left of my clothes to work. And then we can drive home together if you want, obv…

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

I would. more than anything I would.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Sounds good then. It really does! You think we should have Cait and Ronnie over for thanksgiving? It’s in like a week.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Shit, is it? Yes, let’s, but you’re going to have to cook. I’m not…well. I prefer having a chef.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Cannot stress this enough: don’t hire a chef. Let’s just go grocery shopping together, it’ll be amazing, I LOVE grocery stores!!!

 

Hartley smiled, rolling over in bed and sighing.

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Then let’s. This weekend, perhaps. And we should start going shopping soon. Resort season’s coming up around February and I need to buy you some appropriate clothing for Paris.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

You don’t tho

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

Oh I do. I figured we’d stop off in Barcelona for a week before the flat in Paris and honestly, we could go further south towards the sea. We can do whatever we’d like, really.

 

Text From: Mi Alma

Text To: My Hart

Cool, but right now, we should probably sleep. See you tomorrow?

 

Text From: My Hart

Text To: Mi Alma

All right. See you tomorrow.

 

They both put their phones away and fell asleep smiling.

…

 

The next morning, no actual work got done, because all the two of them could think about was the fact that when they went home tonight, it would be together. Cisco drummed his fingers on his desk, mumbling the Pokerap to himself, sketching out specs for a little pet project alongside his proper work on the particle accelerator.

At lunch, he didn’t see Hartley; not that he minded. It felt kind of like being a bride on their wedding day, where you couldn’t see the groom, which was weird, but, you know. Cisco just ate carefully, trying not to get cake crumbs on his notes and thinking of proper dinner. They’d have to go shopping tomorrow; he’d found out by now Hartley had almost no food on hand and had things ordered or catered. Ridiculous…

He sighed, smiled, and started making a grocery list.

Back in his office, Hartley crossed his legs and sat in his chair, texting Caitlin.

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Hey before Cisco can get in and ask would you mind being my maid of honor because I don’t exactly have a lot of friends. Ronnie can come too I guess?

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Hartley James Rathaway I swear to Actual Serious God if you are going to propose to Cisco I am going to take the ring from your hand and eat it

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

 

no

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

not yet

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

HARTLEY

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

Look I just want to get in advance that you’ll do it because Cisco probably has more friends than I do, and I was friends with you first, so, like

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

Yes fine but you really need to stop being so highkey about fucking everything you’ve been dating for two months

 

Text From: Hart

Text To: Cait

I’ll stop being highkey when im lowkey in the fucking ground, cait

 

Text From: Cait

Text To: Hart

I worry about you, I do.

 

He grinned and put his phone aside, leaning back in his chair, satisfied. Sure, he might wait another six months before proposing, but that was plenty of time to think about how he was going to marry Cisco, and the proposal—there was his box at the theatre and there was an orchestra coming to town that was doing Ghibli scores? He could have Cisco there in the dark and hold his hand and slide the ring on his finger and god—

His phone rang. He picked it up and raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“You’ve been talking out loud about this, and dude, your door’s open,” Cisco said.

Hartley put his phone down. Cisco waved. Hartley got up, wordless, and closed the door.

“Don’t ignore me,” Cisco said, muffled through the door.

“I’m not,” Hartley said, putting his phone facedown on his desk. It vibrated at him and he groaned, grabbing it to take the call.

“Let’s totally go to that concert,” Cisco said, “and maybe there we can talk about _planning_ proposals. _Maybe._ Okay?”

“You’re right,” Hartley agreed. “Of course. I love you, _mi alma.”_

“Love you too, you thirsty brat.”

Hartley hung up and made a face before laughing to himself. Sure, maybe he’d slipped up just a bit. But that was all right. That meant he had another, much more romantic option available to him…

Signing off on his last few bits of work for the day, Hartley opened his computer and started looking up restaurants in Paris.

…

The last two people to go home that night were Cisco and Hartley, naturally, even though they’d gotten all their work done and were just, at this point, doing nothing and staring at their computers, idly scrolling. It took Cisco staring long and hard at the time on his computer to finally sigh and yell into Hartley’s office, “Hart? Everybody’s gotta get fed!”

“Shit, right,” Hartley muttered, turning his computer off, getting up and locking his office, beckoning to Cisco. Cisco got up and followed him out into the parking lot, trailing behind with trembling hands until Hartley reached back and grabbed his hand, squeezing tight. Cisco grinned.

“Excited?”

“Little bit,” Cisco admitted. “Lot bit, actually. And excited to see the kitties.”

“They’ve missed you,” Hartley said as Cisco got into the car, sitting and relaxing into the leather seat. “They like me, but I’m not you, and they can tell.”

“They’re smart kitties,” Cisco said, “except Ringo. He’s fat and dumb but I love him. He does his best.”

“He’s admittedly not as bright as Nyota, but she’s street smart,” Hartley admitted. “The artful dodger of cats.”

“Wasn’t that Billy Joel?”

Hartley blinked. Cisco raised his eyebrows. “Dude. _Oliver and Company?”_

Hartley shook his head and switched lanes. Cisco groaned. “Oh my god. Dude. Tonight we are gonna _cuddle_ and we are gonna watch _movies_ until we _die_ and it’ll be great. It’ll be—it’ll be perfect. Watching movies in bed with you.”

He stared out across the dashboard, at the stars starting to light up the sky. “Yeah.”

Hartley reached across and took Cisco’s hand for a brief moment before taking the exit towards home. The only sound for the rest of the car ride home was Cisco’s atonal humming, matching patterns and beats only he understood.

“You didn’t mind,” Cisco said as they pulled up to the gate and got waved on in. “Usually people tell me to shut up.”

“What? It’s fine, I liked listening,” Hartley said, pulling into the garage and taking out the keys. “Do you sing? I play six instruments. We should try to compose something together.”

“Sometimes,” Cisco said, unbuckling before leaning over to kiss Hartley on the cheek. Hartley blinked, rubbing his cheek and grinning.

“What’d I do to deserve that?”

“Eh, I just wanted to,” Cisco said. “Hey, you wanna get married so bad? Carry me over the threshold.”

Hartley nodded, getting out of the car and opening Cisco’s door, holding his arms out. Cisco blinked. “Seriously?”

“Come here,” Hartley said, and Cisco agreed, letting Hartley heft him up into his arms, the both of them groaning with exertion, Hartley’s legs wobbling as he walked out of the garage and up the steps, Cisco clinging to him for dear life as he climbed the steps and elbowed his way inside, Cisco laughing and dodging the door frame so it didn’t clip his head coming in.

“Well,” Hartley said, out of breath, red-faced and grinning, “welcome home, my love.”

And with all their animals bolting down the hall to greet them, Cisco had to admit; this might not have been the kind of home he’d known before, but he was willing to learn.

…

Later that night, Hartley and Cisco stared at each other from across the bed, watching each other.

“I realize I totally should have asked before this was a thing, but I sleep naked,” Cisco said, “That’s cool?”

“Oh my god,” Hartley said, his voice cracking, “please, god, if you’re going to strip, do it now so I can die in peace.”

“Please don’t die,” Cisco said, laughing. “Um…help me out of my binder?”

“You can do this by yourself, I’ve seen you.”

“Yes, but I want you to help me, idiot,” Cisco said, rolling his eyes and smiling. Hartley’s face flushed.

“Ah. Then I consider myself lucky,” Hartley said, climbing across the bed and kneeling on top of it as Cisco turned around, lifting up his boyfriend’s shirt and undoing the binder, reaching around to cup his breasts. “Hey. You’re so gorgeous it hurts, _mi alma.”_

Cisco shivered. ”I…thank you?”

“Welcome,” Hartley said, putting his hands on Cisco’s pants, a physical question. Cisco wriggled a little and Hartley nodded, undoing the button up front and sliding them down, doing the same to his boxer briefs until he could slide one hand over Cisco’s vulva, cupping it.

“My beauty,” Hartley sighed, “my love.”

“Thank you,” Cisco said, his voice quiet, shaking. He sat down on the bed and let Hartley kiss his shoulders as he took off his socks before climbing in under the blankets, sighing in pleasure. “Okay. Are you gonna—“

Hartley stripped his shirt off with a flourish and Cisco laughed. “Dude, I don’t need the show.”

“Let me have this,” Hartley said, sliding his pants down slowly, drumming his fingers on his thighs before peeling off his briefs and throwing them aside, lifting the blankets up and laying down next to Cisco, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Comfy?”

“Very,” Cisco murmured. “Not just physically, too. Feels good. Hart? Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Hartley sighed, kissing his cheek. “Movies tomorrow? Wanna sleep next to you.”

Cisco nodded, throwing an arm over Hartley and closing his eyes.

They had a few brief, beautiful seconds of solitude and peace before Meowth stuck her paw under the door, hollering to be let in. Cisco laughed, getting up and out of bed, ignoring Hartley’s whine of protest, opening the door and letting all the cats and dogs in. He turned back to Hartley, naked and grinning, tucking hair hesitantly behind his ear, so beautiful that Hartley’s brain went numb. He tried to speak and just moaned, fisting his hands in the sheets.

“You’re gonna wanna watch, Ringo’s a face sleeper,” Cisco advised, getting back in bed with Hartley.

“Yeah, and Ranger kicks when he’s dreaming, and Olga likes to wake up and bounce around on the bed,” Hartley grimaced. “It’s a good time.”

“Best I’ve ever had,” Cisco agreed, snuggling up next to Hartley, letting him wrap his arm around him. “Hart? I’m tired. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Hartley said, closing his eyes. They relaxed in the dark, all their pets settling down around them. It was quiet, the wind whistling in the trees outside, grey clouds creeping in with the promise of an early November snow.

“Cisco?”

“Oh my god—“

“Should we take the puppies to the tailor and have them fitted for doggie tuxes? I feel like we should just have the cats wear little bibs, they won’t wear full tuxedos—“

Cisco reached across the bed for a pillow to hit him with. Hartley yelped, reaching up to hit Cisco with a pillow back. They exchanged pillow blows until Meowth swatted them to make them stop and settled back in, snuggling.

“Hart?”

“Mm?”

“We’ll make the cats wear little bridal trains.”

“See, this is why I want to marry you,” Hartley said, kissing him lightly on the mouth. “You’re a fucking genius, Cisco.”

Cisco nodded, snuggling closer, tucking his head under Hartley’s chin. “Mmk. Goodnight for real?”

“Goodnight for real. Sleep well.”

With two cats sleeping against his back and one stretched out over his hip, his boyfriend cradling him close, Cisco did.

 


End file.
